


The Canticle of Dreams

by EmberLeo



Series: The Emberquizzy Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Actual Plot Though, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Canon Dialogue, Demisexual Inquisitor, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Polyamorous Inquisitor, Self-Insert, Self-Insert Ridiculousness, Thedas is an Otherworld, VERY eventual, pagan inquisitor, the gang's all here, where possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-04-07 18:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 135,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19090438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberLeo/pseuds/EmberLeo
Summary: Earth mythology speaks of many Otherworlds reachable only in spirit. Thedas is such a world, lost to the others for far too long.Ember, a modern pagan priestess, is already fairly used to dealing with spirits.When she gets pulled through the fade and thrust into a world where everything is falling apart, her first question is who exactly sent her, and why. But she can’t reach the local gods, much less her own, the elf mage who keeps visiting her in her dreams is disturbingly familiar, and the Maker has a history with singing redheads.-----“I don’t get it, Pipes,” Varric commented, bemused. “You don’t blink at the weird shit, the red lyrium, the demons, the rifts. Why does a regular guy with a sword scare you?”I chuckled darkly. “Varric, as far as I’m concerned, all this shit is weird.”-----The main story in the Emberquizzy Chronicles -Or- Dragon Age: The Musical!Starts off canon-ish and spins further away as it goes.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, yeah. I am Not-A-Standard-Example-of-Humanity, and thought "wouldn't it be hilarious if someone like me got sucked into being the Inquisitor?" so I dove headlong into a ridiculous, fluffy self-insert MGIT fic that is already ridiculously long, and not quite done yet. But we all gotta start somewhere, right? So let's dive in!
> 
> This main story is in the form of the journals the main character is keeping for the sake of her own sanity.
> 
> Several pull out stand-alone stories have already been posted, and more will come, from various points of view.
> 
> Wheeeee!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, UncleDark, Cowline, and Ninabobina for the help editing! <3 -E-

_**Prologue: Letters** _

Viscount Tethras,

As requested, please find all known journals by Inquisitor Angela Jean, Herald of Andraste, enclosed herein. The Divine trusts that you will make appropriate use of these documents in the process of completing her biography.

You will undoubtedly recognize her cypher. However, the last section is in a new code which we have not yet deciphered, as she did not provide a key before she disappeared. If you have any luck interpreting it, please let the Divine know, as it may aid us in locating her.

Grand Cleric Giselle,

Personal Assistant to Divine Victoria

\-----

Nightingale,

You know better than to ask me for help locating a dear friend who has chosen to hide from the long arm of the Chantry. When Pipes wants you to know where they are, I’m sure you’ll know. In the meantime, all we can do is follow the instructions she gave us before they left.

Varric

\-----

Varric,

I know very well what to expect from you, yes, but you understand that I have to ask. I know Ember trusted Solas implicitly, but I cannot say the same.

Anything you know could be valuable.

\- L

\-----

Nightingale,

They’re all four alive and doing fine. That’s all I know.

But if you don’t believe me, feel free to send the Seeker. Waffles and I would love to catch up with her again, as long as she promises not to stab any books.

-V

\-----

V,

Lady Seeker Cassandra is otherwise occupied at the moment, but I’ll be certain to pass your invitation along the next time the Right Hand passes through.

Best of luck to you and your wife.

\- L

=====

_**Haven: A stack of ragged papers** _

The last thing I remember from my world is crawling into bed, exhausted. I barely made it home from the Con, leaving both my partners back at the hotel for the night. _Worst. Con-crud. Evar._ It hit hard and fast while I was driving, and I ended up having to pull over halfway there to wait out the vertigo. I did finally manage to get back to the house in one piece, thankfully, but I didn’t even manage to get all my clothes off before falling into bed. It was all I could do to get under the covers before falling hard into a fevered sleep.

At this rate, I doubt I’ll be in any shape to run tomorrow’s Ostara ritual. Hopefully my second can take over for me. That is, assuming I wake up? I’m starting to worry that something has gone terribly wrong with my body.

The earliest bits of this dream I can remember are confusing and muddled. I couldn’t tell which way was up. I was being chased by something, and there was a woman there, and we were falling, I think, and then she started glowing and told me to run, and climbing this rock pinnacle was too hard, so I got out my wings and flew, and there was a flash of green? I’m not sure that’s all in the right order.

The glowing woman and the floating rocks definitely belong to the same part, but the shouting woman might be from a different dream part, I’m not sure. Ashes was there, though, I remember that much. She was hissing at whatever was chasing me and running ahead to show us the way, a blur of grey tabby stripes clawing at floating thingies and yowling for me to keep up.

Then there was a vaguely-familiar bald elf, who said he was “Solace,” explaining the weird glowing mark on my left hand, and that he’d try to stop it from killing me, and that I needed to wake up.. _(I finally have serial dreams with a handsome elf, and he has no hair? Somebody, somewhere, is laughing at me. I blame Freyr. No, Freyr wouldn’t do this to me. I blame Pan.)_

_(Wait...“Soul loss”? That doesn’t bode well...)_

_\-----_

I’m not sure how to relate the next part. I guess I should write it like waking journals. Everybody else here considers this their waking world, and it certainly feels like being awake, but then dreams can lie like that, and clearly this is not my real life. Here I have my usual dream body, the memory of myself in my early 20s, when I was still able-bodied and even in pretty good shape. My hair is the long, polished copper it once was instead of the tarnished auburn with verdigris ends it is now. I don’t need glasses, but my eyes are still coppery brown instead of the green I’d prefer. My skin is still pale and covered in freckles either way, though. And my devotional tattoo is still on my ankle. Thank the Gods for small favors in strange times?

Apparently, what _they_ saw is that I came stumbling out of the largest fade rift and collapsed. So they took care of me and had Solas _(Elven for “pride”, not a compliment to his counseling skills)_ healing me in my sleep. Er, that is, my here-sleep. I can tell I’m going to have some language problems. Hopefully, we won’t add time travel to this syntactical mess.

So the Seeker took me up the hill to a smaller fade rift where Solas _(who still looks weirdly familiar)_ and a dwarf named Varric were fighting a handful of demons. Once all the demons were dead, Solas grabbed my left wrist and pulled energy through my arm to the mark, directing it at the fade rift. I could feel the mark twisting and watched the fade rift twist the same way, and then it just felt… done? Which HURT. So, I clenched my fist closed around the mark reflexively, and we both _pulled._ The rift sucked in on itself with a weird rushing sound, and then disappeared with a bang.

I asked Solas what he did, but he insisted it was all me. As if I can’t tell when somebody is pulling on my energy or shoving energy through my arm. But I didn’t want to argue the point in front of everyone when I wasn’t sure my understanding of magic even applied in a place where elemental energy was clearly visible and rifts in reality could spit physical monsters out at us. Then he handed me a staff.

“She’s a mage?” the Seeker demanded.

“Yes,” Solas replied. “I told you it was likely.”

"She said she didn’t know if she was a mage! I thought that meant there were mages in her family, but she isn’t one. How could anyone _not know_ if they’re a mage by the time they’re an adult?”

“Granted, it is unusual, but judging from her abilities in the fade, she is almost certainly a mage and should be trained accordingly, as she hasn’t been already.”

“So she’s an untrained apostate. Wonderful.”

I objected to that. “How can I be an apostate of a church I never joined?”

They all looked at me strangely for that. “‘Apostate’ is what the humans call mages who are not trained inside the Chantry’s Circle of Magi,” Solas explained.

The Seeker looked back to me, confused and frustrated. “You appear to be Avvar, you sound Dwarven, and you are a mage who does not know what an apostate is. You are the only survivor of the Conclave, yet don’t remember attending. How is this possible? Do you have amnesia?”

“I guess so? I don’t remember anything about this world from before I woke up with those shackles on my wrists!”

“This _world_ …?” she started to reply, confused.

Varric interrupted, “Seeker, I know liars, and if this woman is lying to you, she’s doing a terrible job. I think she’s telling us what little truth she knows. Badgering her isn’t likely to help here any more than it helped with me.”

“I did not _badger_ you, Varric. I asked you questions,” she objected.

“You _interrogated_ me, Seeker,” Varric pointed out, going prickly.

“I was doing my job! And I did not harm you.”

“You stabbed me in the book!” He exclaimed.

“Wait, she stabbed you in the back and thinks she didn’t hurt you?!” I looked from Varric to the Seeker, shocked. She growled at him, but he just gave me a shit-eating grin and explained.

“Not my back, my _book_. She put a knife through my biography of the Champion of Kirkwall.”

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “Oh for the love of... really, dude? You’re cracking bad puns here, _now_ ? _Really?_ ”

Varric just laughed.

“To be fair,” Cassandra replied, in a conciliatory tone, “I _did_ actually stab his book.”

“Okay, I definitely want to hear the rest of this story, but maybe not right now?”

“No, not right now,” the Seeker agreed, firmly.

When we reached the forward camp, the Seeker met with the Sister again to discuss their options and argue with some priest who apparently wants me dead. Thankfully, it appeared they both outranked the guy.

Solas took me aside to give me some brief instructions on how to wield a staff as a mage. I’ve never been much of a tool-using witch; I always feel like the tool is in my way. At his instruction, I closed my eyes and pulled fire energy through my body, pouring it into the staff, but I wasn’t pulling it from the world around me, or up from the ground. He had me think about the other dream conversations we had, and pull the fire from _that_ place.

 I wasn’t very good at it. The staff was definitely in my way. I’d feel the heat gathering in my hands, but when I tried to direct it through the staff, it just fizzled with a strange hissing sound.

“Let me try something.” I handed the staff back to Solas, and then visualized the fade not as a dream in my head but as another spiritual realm outside myself or the physical world, like Vanaheim or Faerie. Then I shifted my focus to merge my sense of the flame I’d created in _that_ world with the same space in my hands in _this_ world.

Sure enough, it worked here too, and a small ball of flame appeared in my hand, the heat I’d pushed myself to feel from the other world suddenly reported back to me by the nerves in my hand. _Awesome!_

Solas watched me with interest. “How is what you just did different from what I instructed?”

“I’m not sure it is, honestly. I just wanted to see if it worked the way I expected it to from my training back home,” I replied.

“So you _do_ have magical training, then?” he pressed.

“Several kinds, yes,” I nodded, frowning. I rattled off a probably-incomprehensible list: “Divination, spirit work, dreamwalking, ritual practice, some herbalism, a bit of Hoodoo. I’m not much for Ceremonial Magick, but most forms of Western folk witchcraft I can at least make do.” I shrugged, letting the fire dissipate. “Only, I have no idea which of them apply here, or how to use them in this context! Elements are obviously similar, but I’ve never used magic to light a fire directly. Encourage a fire to burn faster, hotter, or brighter? Yes. Light? No.” My hands flailed in my frustration. “Is there luck magic here? Does healing work the same way?”

“You know how to heal?”

“For my world, yes, but I have no idea how any of it works here, and the applications back home are comparatively limited.”

“Have you ever fought anyone with magic?”

“No.” I frowned. “Magic isn’t a _fast_ weapon in my world,” I explained, quietly, “except maybe where it’s connected to martial arts. I have very little training in any martial arts. I’ve sparred a bit with wooden practice swords, but actual fighting doesn’t come up very often in everyday life where I’m from.”

He listened, his expression stubbornly neutral. “Interesting.”

I sighed. “I must sound delusional.”

“Not to me, but you should exercise discretion in whom you confide here.”

“Obviously.”

Solas nodded and handed the staff back to me as the Seeker and Sister came striding towards us.

“We need to take you through the mountain pass to the temple.” The Seeker told us in a rush. “You have little fighting skill and it’s too dangerous to take you straight through the main combat front.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, more curious than worried.

“To the main rift, to see if you can close it,” the Sister explained.

“Ah, that makes sense. Okay.”

“‘ _Okay_ ’? You’re willing to do this, then?” The Seeker seemed surprised. The Sister and Varric looked pleased. Solas just looked impassive, as always. Resting Elf Face. He must be amazing at poker.

“If you think it will help, sure.” I agreed.

“I _hope_ it will help. Maker preserve us if it does not!” she sighed, sounding relieved and worried at the same time.

The path up the mountain was difficult. I spent a lot of time dodging and hiding, and generally trying to stay out of the way. I focused on shielding. Solas called it a “barrier”. Mine looked like a soap bubble, an iridescent sphere that deflected anything trying to hit me, but I could only hold it up through a couple of hits before it popped and I had to start all over.

When we reached the ruined temple, I stopped dead in my tracks, suddenly overwhelmed with vertigo. There were charred bodies everywhere, frozen in agonized gestures, a grotesque pantomime of horror. The smell of burnt flesh turned my stomach, and I gagged violently, grateful that my stomach was already empty. The others were surprisingly kind about it, offering me wine, and when I turned that down, water.

My ears started ringing, and a strangely familiar bass voice came out of nowhere. I froze, my whole body vibrating with conflicting impulses to run, lash out, and hold impossibly still. The Seeker turned to me, demanding more answers I didn’t have. All I could do was shake my head and force myself to take deep breaths, humming quietly to try and suppress the impending panic.

The deep voice spoke of a sacrifice, and I could almost speak the words with him, the _deja vu_ was so intense. Then another voice spoke, also familiar, but less disturbing. A woman. The Seeker recognized her voice as that of the Divine.

And then we all heard it: _“What’s going on here?!”_

I froze again as she turned to look at me, shocked. “That’s _your_ voice!”

I nodded, unable to speak, or even move. Solas gently pressed on my back. I took a deep breath, humming quietly as I exhaled, and continued forward. We all listened to the strange radio play in full surround sound, and I focused on my breathing.

Visions emerged, stretching across the space, larger than life. The deep-voiced monster with glowing eyes was sacrificing the Divine for some ritual. My arrival had interrupted it. Everything exploded.

The vision cleared, and there was the rift. THE rift. The largest of the rifts, directly connected to the breach in the sky above. It hovered in mid-air, writhing, with impossible green crystalline shapes shifting in and out of existence. If MC Escher and HP Lovecraft wanted to design earrings for Galactus, it might look like this. If it weren’t so _terrifying_ , it would be sort of beautiful, honestly.

The plan was for me to use the mark to first open, and then close the rift. Apparently this crystalline tesseract monstrosity was in a stuck-half-open state that had to be broken apart before it could be fixed. Solas held my wrist again, gently this time, and talked me through using the mark to open the rift. With his guidance, I was able to open it with startling ease.

The rift broke open, but before I could seal it, a Kaiju came through. Well, they called it a Pride demon, actually, but it sure _looked_ like Godzilla. It was HUGE, had several pairs of red eyes, and electric lashes. And it kept _laughing_. Creepy bastard. Since I wasn’t much use for the fight, I focused on messing with the rift itself, seeing what the mark could do to it, pulling on the edges, twisting this way and that. I found a particular combination that made the rift shift in on itself, and made all the demons in the area stagger. Solas yelled at me to do it again as soon as the twisting stopped, so I spent the rest of the battle running away from floating hags and twisting the rift to make Godzilla stagger until the Seeker could run her sword through its head, and I could seal the rift once and for all.

At least, I think that’s what I did. I remember trying, anyway, and then I must have blacked out.

\-----


	2. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember is not sure she's able - much less ready - to become what the Inquisition needs of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 Chapters to start, because I probably have a good dozen chapters ready, and I'm eager to get started :D

Oh dear gods, where to begin.

I awoke again in a decent cabin, my clothes the same as before, but cleaner. There was a note beside the bed with a few broken sentences that sounded like a doctor’s notes about my health. I made a mental note to find and thank them as a young elven woman walked in, and dropped what she was carrying in shock at finding me awake.

She said the others would want to know. I waited in the cabin, thinking someone would come for me for quite some time. When I realized nobody was coming, and I heard people whispering outside the door, I stepped hesitantly out of the cabin to look around.

I found everyone lined up on either side of the path outside my cabin waiting in reverence for me. They were calling me the “Herald of Andraste”.  _ What the hell? _

Okay, I’m used to ritual, and I’m even used to being looked on as a goddess, but only when I’m actually, y’know,  _ carrying a goddess _ as a trance medium. These people were looking at me as if I was  _ myself _ a demigod.

Or a prophet. Shit shit  _ shit _ shit  _ SHIT _ .

——-

"Your Worship, if I may have a moment of your time?" The Ambassador caught my attention as we stepped out of the War Room.

"Um, sure, yes, of course, Ambassador," I stumbled. 'Your Worship' is going to take getting used to. "I'm sorry, remind me your name? I'm really terrible at remembering names. I'm Ember."

"Yes. I'm Lady Josephine Montilyet, your worship."

"Right, yes. Josephine. Or am I supposed to call you my Lady Montilyet?"

"'Lady Montilyet' is my mother, for now, although I will be in time, as I am the eldest. You may call me 'Lady Josephine' if you like, or 'Ambassador Montilyet'. 'Josephine' is fine amongst ourselves, if you prefer. My personal friends call me 'Josie'."

"Well, I would prefer to be called 'Ember' whenever possible, Lady Josephine, but somehow I doubt I'll convince anyone to stop calling me 'Herald of Andraste' or 'Your Worship' any time soon." I said, chagrined.

"Is Ember your only name?"

"No, but it's what everyone who actually knows me calls me."

"May I have your full name?"

"If you like, but can we have this conversation in private, please?"

"Of course. Step into my office." She directed me to the room immediately to our right as we walked away from the War Room, and quietly asked the other occupant, a young elf woman in mage's robes, for privacy. I settled into the chair in front of her desk as she locked the door.

"How much have they told you about me?" I asked, quietly.

"Very little, Your Worship. They said almost nothing was known before you were questioned, and you could not remember much once you were awake."

"True, as far as it goes. It sounds like you have different questions, though."

"Perhaps. As the Ambassador for the Inquisition, it is my duty to establish favorable connections throughout Thedas. To that end, anything you can tell me about yourself, your background, and your family could be helpful."

"I seriously doubt that, Lady Josephine. I have no family here, and what I am will sound crazy to most."

"What are you, then?"

"Californian," I replied, deadpan.

"I'm unfamiliar with that term, Herald," she responded with polite curiosity, "Is it a kind of mage?"

I almost fell out of my chair laughing at that. Considering how the rest of the country seems to view my home state, "bunch of witches" is a snarky definition I can easily see assigned to "California".

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I said, waving my hand. I took a deep breath to regain control. "No, California is not a type of mage, Ambassador. California is my home."

"I am well-versed in geography and know of no place called ‘California’, Your Worship," she replied, bewildered.

"That's because I'm not from Thedas, Lady Josephine," I explained, "See the crazy now?"

"I... see, yes. But... how is that possible?"

"I don't know. My last memory of home is of falling asleep with a fever. My first memory of here is of waking up in shackles. Between I have only dreams, though some seem to have been of what happened in the fade after the Conclave exploded, and others of being healed by Solas."

"They say Andraste Herself led you from the fade. I would very much like to believe that is so. But if it is, did She first draw you from your home to us?"

"I really don't know. I can't say it's impossible. None of the Powers I served back home were named Andraste but it's not uncommon for them to refer me to a Power I don't know."

"I don't understand," she apologized.

I shook my head, "Neither do I, and it probably won't help anyway. What were you planning to ask me?"

"I was going to ask for your full name, your family connections. If you come from a respected family that might be interested in our cause, that could help."

"If my name ties me to a respected family here, that would be a coincidence. No one I knew before the Conclave is in Thedas, as far as I know." I gave an apologetic half-smile. "If it helps, I can say with complete honesty and a straight face that my oldest memories are of dreams, and that I have no memories of  _ this _ world from before the Conclave. Maybe we should just let people draw their own strange conclusions. They are already inclined to believe I was delivered by divine intervention, and for all we know, they're right. My birth name can be translated as 'Herald of Divine Grace' after all."

"That may yet prove useful, Your Worship, thank you." Lady Josephine smiled.

"I'm sorry I can't help more."

"We will make do."

"Let me know if I can help. I'd better catch up with Seeker Cassandra now." I got up to leave.

"Of course, Your Worship. Thank you," she replied, in polite dismissal.

\-----

_ They keep asking for my opinion. _ I know next to nothing about this world, but apparently even here my tendency to sound sure and opinionated makes people think I know the way? I hope I don’t break anything.

\-----

Lady Josephine has admonished me, gently, to remember people’s titles, at least in public. She has assured me that none of the others I speak to regularly are offended by my casual use of personal names by default in private, but cautions me that it is likely to be an issue in more public situations.

Commander Rutherford still blushes a little whenever I call him Cullen.

\-----

They’ve asked me to go down the mountain to meet with a Chantry Mother who wants to meet the Herald of Andraste. I’m used to being a messenger for any and all gods handy, but I usually get to at least  _ meet _ Them first, for frell’s sake. How am I supposed to be this Andraste’s Herald if She hasn’t given me any messages yet?!

Wait, isn’t Andraste the name of the goddess of victory Boudicca invoked? A cognate of Cathubodua, and the Morrigan, or something? Damn, I wish I had my library...

\-----

The Hinterlands are absolutely beautiful! They look a lot like home, but without the redwoods, and with much cleaner air. And there’s poppies! They have California Golden Poppies! Obviously they don’t call them that here. But still, a bit of home! Cassandra thought I’d injured myself when I first saw them, I made such a squee. Varric watched with amusement as Solas stopped Cassandra from interfering with my picking several poppies and putting them in my hair. Naturally they wilted almost immediately, but I didn't care. A bit of home!! I gathered several seed pods while I was at it, not entirely sure how I was going to use them.

Solas has been teaching me how to identify the unfamiliar plants, so I can gather healing herbs. Apparently they have a panacea called Elfroot that’s especially helpful in reducing pain, swelling, and bleeding, and speeding tissue regeneration. I’m not sure how it does the latter while doing the former, but hey, magic elf plants for the win. Only I keep accidentally calling it “Elfweed”, which makes Solas wince. I asked him what the Elves call it. He just said there was another word for it, but didn’t tell me what the word was. Why did he think I asked?

\-----

Mother Giselle is a delight. She’s helping the refugees in the hinterlands right along with our soldiers. She had hopefully-useful advice for the Inquisition to reconcile with the Chantry, or at least outmaneuver them. Ugh, I hate politics.

\-----

What is with all the stray chests and boxes around here? Is there a really robust geocaching trend in Western Ferelden that I don’t know about?

\-----

They gave me a horse. Just me. It’s very confusing. Why would they give  _ me _ a horse, when Cassandra is the leader? I don’t even know how to ride a horse! I do want to learn, but I am “loaning” the horse to Cassandra until we can get Master Dennet sorted out for horses for everyone who needs them.

Still, this Inquisition, despite its name, IS doing good already. I could see that in the Hinterlands, where they...  _ we  _ are protecting and providing for the refugees. I ran a few errands of mercy while I could, tracking down blankets, food, and medicine for the refugees, and closing a few rifts.

There was one woman who clearly has asthma and gets pneumonia every winter. Her son left his parents behind to join some kind of apocalypse cult in the hills without teaching his dad how to make her meds.  _ Really?  _ So of course I tracked him down to read him the riot act, and got the potion and recipe. He claimed he’d thought it was alright for him to disappear without at least leaving the recipe and a supply, since she’d been breathing just fine when he left.  _ What part of chronic condition with seasonal complications was unclear from the last decade of observation, you moron?!  _ I’ve never been so annoyed not to have glasses to pull down my nose so I can give some young idiot a stern, disappointed glare. I told him I suspected the Maker needs him to take care of his family more than he needs him to stand around pointedly not chanting. He can pointedly not chant just as easily at home, after all.

The apocalypse cult has apparently decided that since chanting at the Maker didn’t result in paradise, clearly they should all be silent instead. If by “silent” you mean “everyone standing around chatting”. The woman at the gate questioned me at the door, demanding to know if I was really the Herald of Andraste. When I explained that I didn’t know yet, she concluded that  _ everything _ she’d ever heard about me was obviously a lie. I’m sensing that logic isn’t something people teach around here. I assured her that yes, I am the crazy woman going around closing fade rifts by pointing at them and flipping them off. She demanded I prove it, so I did.

Now I have a whole inept-at-silence apocalypse cult ready to serve me. I sent them out to help at the crossroads. Varric suggested they also spread the word and gather info. But I don’t really  _ want _ more people obsessing over me, and I can’t imagine people who don’t understand the concept of “silence” are very good at keeping secrets. And there are so many people who need help! A few dozen extra pairs of hands will be very useful to Mother Giselle down at the crossroads.

\-----

I don’t really want to write this down, or even remember it. But I know it’s not the kind of thing I should let myself ever forget.

_ I killed a person today. _

Not a monster, or a demon. A human person.

I’ve been trying so hard to stay out of the fighting, to leave it to the experts. There’s been so many dead bodies everywhere since I got here that I have already started to become numb to it, like it’s not  _ real _ . Well, I don’t honestly know that all this IS real, to be fair, but it sure feels real as it’s happening, and relative to this world, the world I’m currently in, for better or worse,  _ it’s real _ .

I’ve killed in dreams before. Most of the time it happens in slow motion, my punches pulled to the point of excruciating slowness. I’ve felt the point of my knife, dagger, or sword slowly punch through skin like supple leather backed with meat, but there’s no bleeding, no screaming, nothing that a real fight would have. Once, maybe twice in dreams, I’ve killed at a normal speed, deliberately, but it was all metaphor.

_ This is not a metaphor _ . I really killed somebody. I mean, he was trying to kill me, it’s not like it was murder. But I just... I don’t...

_ Healers are not supposed to kill. _

No one is being unkind. Theirs is such a violent world, I must seem so naive and stupid having a complete breakdown over killing somebody myself after all I’ve already been through here. I’m barely phased by demons and spirits and falling to pieces over ordinary life. Freak.  _ Fucking useless freak _ .

But they’re all being so frelling  _ nice _ to me. On the one hand, it’s a relief, because I don’t think I could handle it if they laid into me right now. On the other hand, I’m so anxious, I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mother Giselle has been the most overtly comforting. I’ve never been afraid of death  _ itself _ . But pain, suffering, killing… that’s never been okay, and it still isn’t now, and I don’t like contributing to it. But on a battlefield, nobody is that fucking special, and being as special as I may well be makes me a target, not a gods-protected treasure. 

Yeah, some of my luck still holds. I’m still strangely hard to hit with flying objects, and good at dodging. I’m harder to bruise or break bones than average, too, but I’m no harder to slice open. I know I’m not invincible, especially in open melee.

That man came after me with an already-bloody sword, refusing to back off or drop it, no matter what I or the others did. He lost the right to my consideration when he backed me up against the boulders. I rolled back onto the boulder, planted my feet on his chest and pushed him away, making him stumble backwards and fall. Then I tried to run away, and he grabbed my ankle, and I fell too. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as he tried to climb on top of me, to pin me down. I reached over and shoved my dagger into his eye, with as much fire as I could run through the blade making the fluid from his eyes sizzle, the edges melting through flesh and nerves, until the blade lodged against bone. At least I know he died quickly.

I don’t remember what happened after that. Cassandra found me curled up into a little ball, hidden between the rocks, visible mainly because the iridescent bubble of my shield rose above the line of the stone. It took her several tries to get my attention. She helped me stand up and climb up onto the horse, and she led the horse back to camp as I was crouched down with my arms wrapped around the horse’s neck.

She tried to get me to talk until Varric handed her my dagger, pulled from the dead man’s face. They had a quiet conversation right in front of me that just sounded like adults in a Peanuts movie:  _ “Wah wah WAH. Wah WAH wah wah.” _ Varric put his hand on my shoulder, gave me a sympathetic look, and then just sat down next to me, took the plate of food off my lap, and started talking in a storyteller’s tone while handing me my food one bite at a time. I have no idea what the story was he told. I’ll have to ask him to tell it to me again sometime when I can hear him.

I saw Solas in my dreams that night. I had that unshakable sense of  _ deja vu _ again, as I looked back at him, but he didn’t come close. He just watched me from afar as Ashes climbed up onto my shoulder and purred in my ear while I sobbed, and rocked back and forth chanting  _ “I’m sorry”, “No, no, no!” _ and  _ “Stupid stupid stupid!” _ like a mantra. After a while, she started licking my cheek, and I tried singing quietly to calm myself, on the theory that panic attacks work the same way in the fade as they do in meatspace.

I woke up in the middle of the night to empty my stomach violently into the weeds. Cassandra was in the tent with me, and woke up when she heard me crawling out of the tent in a rush. She helped me get back down into the blankets, and got a wet cloth to put on my forehead, before settling back down to watch me sleep and, I hope, return to sleep herself.

\-----


	3. Benedictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald starts to find her footing - and her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw hell, why not three? Okay, okay, I'll pause now, I swear!

When I woke up the next day, it was later than usual. They’d let me sleep for as long as my body allowed. Cassandra helped me get cleaned up, since I was still physically weak from being sick overnight, and then we returned to the camp for lunch.

I was calmer, still hearing purring in my ears whenever I started to wander off mentally. I asked the others if it was okay if I sang some songs, and they agreed. So I sang the songs for the Ancestors:

__ Great is the loss of those left now behind  
Small are the troubles of ordin’ry day  
Tightly we hold to thy memory  
Freely we wish thee upon thy way... 

__ Light a candle for me, will you  
When I pass away  
Just a candle, silent, steady  
And my love shall stay  
So the candles gather, quiet  
One for every heart  
Like the stars above our faces  
Watch our friend depart... 

__ I am a living flame from a fire lit long ago  
I hear the voice of the Ancestors, Their wisdom I would know  
Nothing is gone that is not forgotten  
Nothing is gone that is not forgotten  
Nothing is gone that is not forgotten  
And we will never forget... 

__ Listen more often to things than to beings  
Listen more often to things than to beings  
‘Tis the Ancestors’ breath when the fire’s voice is heard  
‘Tis the Ancestors’ breath in the voice of the waters… 

__ Amazing grace, how sweet the sound  
That saved a wretch like me  
I once was lost but now am found  
Was blind but now I see... 

None of them had heard me really sing before. Sure, I sing compulsively under my breath all the time here just as much as I do at home, but singing out properly hadn’t come up yet. Cassandra said I had a lovely voice, and asked if I would teach her some of the songs.

Solas expressed surprise that I would pay that much honor to my enemies. I pointed out that they’re still people, and he started to say something, but his eyes glanced around quickly, and he simply responded, “Indeed.”

Then I thought about what Papa Ghede would say.  _ “Everybody gotta die sometime. Not your fault he chose today, child.”  _ So I sang what I could remember of Papa’s quiet songs:

__ Oh padre, mi padre, no quiero morir  
Oh padre, mi padre, No puedo oír  
la voz de los ángeles  
ayúdeme si puedes  
dios ni diablos están aquí  
ayúdeme padre, da vida a mi... 

__ The graveyard fills with symbols  
of the salty sea and spells  
The spirit of our memory  
is carried on her swells  
The waters whisper mysteries  
our minds can't comprehend  
That lead us to confront her,  
our inevitable end... 

And then moved on to some of His more energetic songs, for His wife:

__ Mamon Brigitte  
Come die with me slowly,  
I'll always be true  
With love everlasting  
forever with you... 

__ Tuesday afternoon she picks out a rose  
Puts it on her husband's grave-O  
It's a nec-romantic gift, I suppose  
It's just her way. Axe-O... 

 

And finally the ridiculous Fraggle song he loves, even though they probably wouldn’t understand much of it:

__ When my time to go is here  
Call my friends to gather near  
Tell the doctor and the preacher that I'm failin'  
But forget about your black  
'Cause I'm planning to come back  
Play some honkey-tonkin' grief and dixie wailin! 

Varric was laughing and clapping by the end. Cassandra was laughing too, but looked slightly scandalized. Solas just sat there, impassive as always, alternately watching my face and evaluating the reactions of the others listening. But whenever I paused long enough to drink and clear my throat, Ashes started purring in my ears again, and Solas would tilt his head, eyebrows twitching in confusion, as if he was trying to figure out where the thrumming sound was coming from.

Cassandra rose, finally, and said she needed to get things prepared for us to return to Haven the next day with Mother Giselle. I looked up and around and realized that my impromptu concert had attracted an audience not only of Inquisition soldiers, but locals and refugees as well. When it was clear that I was entirely finished singing, they broke out in applause. I smiled sheepishly, and bowed, making eye contact with many of them. They each nodded or bowed in respect, and several of them grinned at me.

I’m curious what they were thinking of my wasting so much time on singing songs for the dead instead of fetching blankets and food or helping hunt down demons and rogues. But nobody looked disapproving. Some looked rather moved, actually.

Oh, wait. Didn’t they say Andraste was known for ritual singing? That’s why they call it the Chant, and the Chantry. Dammit, what did I just step into?

_ Did I just run a mass memorial ritual for the refugees?  _ ~Facepalm~

\-----

All five of us had horses for the ride back to Haven. Cassandra led the way, with Mother Giselle for company. Varric and Solas were behind me, chatting amiably about the foibles of humans that they, as a dwarf and an elf, had been subject to. 

“What would they do without our stabilizing influence, Master Tethras?” Solas asked with a straight face.

“I assume they’d just start burning things,” Varric replied, cheerfully.

“That does sound like most humans I know,” Solas agreed, looking at me sideways, lips twitching.

I laughed, much to Varric’s delight. Then his attention shifted.

“I don’t get it, Pipes,” Varric commented, bemused. “You don’t blink at the weird shit, the red lyrium, the demons, the rifts. Why does a regular guy with a sword scare you?”

Solas tilted his head, obviously listening, but said nothing.

I chuckled darkly. “Varric, as far as I’m concerned,  _ all _ this shit is weird. But the regular guy with the sword is…” I paused, considering. “Have you ever heard of the Uncanny Valley?”

“No, but it sounds like something Hawke would get trapped in,” he quipped.

“Ha! From what you’ve said of Hawke, I believe that. No, the Uncanny Valley is a concept. Monsters can be scary and people can be trusted, and we’re inclined to treat anything with a face as people unless it seems malicious. It’s why we like pets so much. But the scariest thing in the world is something that looks like  _ almost _ like a person, but  _ not quite _ .”

“So it’s like the Tranquil?” he mused, “They look normal, but they sound and move wrong, so people find them creepy?”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Those demons coming out of the rifts? That I can take at face value and just go with it. But what looks like a normal guy trying to kill me? I don’t know to interpret that.”

Varric gave me a wry grin. “I take it normal guys never tried to kill you before the Conclave? Even though you’re a mage?”

“Nope. Never!” I shook my head emphatically. “I never even saw a human die before the Conclave. Not in person, anyway.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, I knew you  _ seemed _ innocent, but I figured you were like my other mage girls, secretly ready to throw fireballs at the nearest dragon.”

“Innocence is relative, Varric. I’m a lot less innocent now by my own standards.” I frowned, mentally shaking myself. “But by many people’s standards, I never was, and by others I always will be.”

“True enough, Pipes. True enough.”

\-----

After we stopped for a rest, I approached Solas, and gestured for him to walk with me away from the others.

“Yesterday, you were surprised that I would sing songs for the Ancestors in response to having…” I swallowed carefully, forcing myself to acknowledge it directly, “...killed... that man.” I took a deep breath and shook my head before looking back up at him. “Why?”

“Most do not see their enemies in battle as people, in my experience. I was wondering if you would consider spirits people. You have not mourned the demons we have been fighting, even when you’ve had a direct hand in dispatching them.”

“But aren’t we just banishing them back to the fade? I didn’t think we were destroying them.”

“Oh, no, they are quite destroyed when we are done with them here. Others like them will manifest anew in the fade, but those particular spirits are gone now.”

I stared at the elf, dismayed. “ _ What _ ? Solas, I had no idea! You mean all this time I’ve been…  _ we’ve _ been…” I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut to banish sudden tears at the realization of how badly I’d betrayed my values. After several deep breaths, I tried to speak calmly, rationally. “Is there something we can do better for them?”

Solas looked truly surprised at that. “Then you do actually consider spirits people? You would care to send them back to the fade unharmed if you could?”

I opened my eyes to stare at him, confused by his surprise. “Absolutely! You said yourself, it’s not their fault they are being torn into this world and distorted!”

He tilted his head, curious. “Even great monsters like pride?”

I shook my head again, and shrugged. “You said Pride was the distortion of Wisdom. Shouldn’t we be trying to restore Wisdom instead of destroying Pride? But, Solas, you have not mourned the loss of the demons either, that I’ve seen. And you seem to care a great deal about spirits. More than anyone else here does, anyway.”

“Nor have I mourned our mortal enemies as you have.”

“Fair enough. At least you’re consistently misanthropic?” I shook my head with a wry, pained smile. “Then again, you haven’t expressed  _ any  _ emotions as openly as I do. You must be  _ amazing _ at poker.”

He tilted his head again, reminding me of a curious retriever. “‘ _ Poker _ ’?”

I waved my hand, dismissively. “Card game. Gambling.”

“Ah. I am not much for gambling these days.”

I caught the qualifier. “But you used to be.”

“In my youth,” he admitted, nodding.

“And you were good at it, weren’t you?” I grinned.

Solas smiled slowly. “Somewhat, yes.”

\-----

Solas found me in my dreams again. He caught me flying around, with my amber-tipped raptor wings out. He seemed surprised and pleased that I could change my shape in dreams, but cautioned me not to draw the attention of twisted spirits with such antics.

Then Ashes appeared on my shoulder with a “ _ mrrrup _ ”, and he apologized for doubting her ability to guard me, with some humor. He’s very curious about my personal spirit allies. I’m not sure what the big deal is there. Don’t most spirit workers end up with some friends on the other side?

——-

I found Leliana praying in her tent today.

__ “Blessed are the peacekeepers,  
The champions of the just  
Blessed are the righteous,  
The lights in the shadow  
In their blood the maker's will is written.” 

She was mourning and angry, bitterly asking the Maker if death is his only blessing. When she noticed me, she turned to demand my opinion, her eyes narrow and tone accusing. Her whole body was stiff, as if holding back pain.

“You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all of this? What's his game?”

She was obviously in pain, needing answers. I knew it was important to answer her seriously, sincerely.  _ Need compels. _ Of course that put me in priestess mode.  _ Need is upon us to foresee what fate has fashioned, what has been, what is being, and becoming. _

I closed my eyes, trying to listen for Andraste, for the Maker, but I didn’t hear anyone new. Still, answers came, as they often do, on their own, but without any signature.

“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” I whispered.

“What?”

Opened my eyes and met Leliana’s angry gaze. “How did Andraste die?”

Leliana’s eyes widened slightly, as if I’d struck her. “She was burned at the stake as punishment, and then stabbed through the heart as a mercy.”

I nodded. “Why?”

“She raised a rebellion against the tyrannical empire.”

“And what happened to Andraste after she died?”

“It is said she joined the Maker at His side. The chantry was founded in Her name. Hessarian was moved by her suffering to convert and end her misery, and the Tevinter Empire became Andrastian. So you’re saying it’s true? That the Maker’s blessing is death?”

“I’m saying maybe death is not an ending in the Maker’s eyes. Maybe some things are so immovable it takes an unstoppable force to make them budge.”

“And that’s worth the death of our Most Holy? Justinia gave him everything she had, and he let her die. If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is he?”

“Maybe he needed her by his side now. Maybe her job was done. Maybe it’s not me who is the Herald of Andraste, but Justinia, and her message was being ignored. If what you say is true, and the Divine was willing to risk everything for what she believed was right, then maybe the point is for us to look at what she believed in and  _ do _ something about it.”

“But that’s entirely what the Conclave was for! Wasn’t it good enough? Why did she have to  _ die _ ? If Andraste could save you, why couldn’t she save her?”

“I’m so sorry, Leliana, I don’t know why it’s me who is here instead of her. I can see this hurts you a great deal. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Leliana sighed, and looked away. “Maybe. I don’t know.” I wanted to reach out to her, to offer her some kind of comfort, but I wasn’t sure how she would respond, so I simply watched, and waited. After a moment, she spoke again.

“I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. Now she's dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing.”

I frowned in sympathy. “I very much doubt that, Leliana. Even if you stopped right this moment, you have already done so much that matters, and there is so much more you can still do. I don’t know if either of us are  _ Chosen _ , but you are so clearly  _ Called _ . I’ve met only a few people in my life who are as obviously called to a purpose in their faith as you are. I can feel it. But I can’t tell you what that purpose is, I’m sorry.”

I watched her steel herself, the mask of the Left Hand of the Divine settling back into place. “I apologize, Herald. This is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again.”

I sighed. I wanted to push back, to tell her vulnerability is a blessing, not a weakness. Maybe I’d done it wrong. I can never be sure. I shook my head and turned to leave her in peace.

“Just, if you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

_ May there be truth in our seeing, truth in our saying, _

_ and understanding in the ears that hear. _

\-----

Lady Josephine had me fitted for some very fancy armor to visit Val Royeaux. I’m to meet with the Chantry representatives that Mother Giselle suggested, so that we can build up to asking either the Mages or the Templars for help sealing the rift. I’m not sure why I’m to wear armor. I’m clearly not a fighter. She said formal robes would be appropriate to my actual position, but would reveal more than we wish to at this time, and besides, there are likely people who would wish me harm, so armor is well advised and we may as well make it look good.

I’m to represent the Inquisition, after all, whether I ever wanted to or not. I have to admit, all these layers of white leather and golden metal look pretty amazing. My shoulders are HUGE. But must the sash be bright orange? I feel like a traffic cone.

\-----

Well! That was bracing!

Val Royeaux is a strange place. I’ve never been to Venice, much less during Carnivale, but from the photos I’ve seen of it, Val Royeaux is something like that, only every day. They seriously wear masks _ everywhere _ . I gather part of the purpose is to hide their facial expressions. Their communication relies much more heavily on vocal inflection, I think, but it’s hard to say when they’re all affecting social masks to match their accessories. They call it “The Game”, and apparently it’s everything from everyday interaction among merchants and nobles to high stakes intrigue complete with espionage, sabotage, and assassinations. Ugh, _ politics.  _ Wherever there’s many people, there’s always some bloodsuckers.

The Chantry did nothing but denounce me as a heretic, of course. ( _ To be fair, I’m more of an infidel, since I’d have to be Andrastian to begin with to be a heretical one. _ ) They’d thought the Templars had returned to back them. But the Templars did nothing of the kind, and instead undermined the Chantry’s authority, which… actually sort of helps us? Except they definitely didn’t do it for us, and were complete assholes about it. One of them even punched one of the Mothers in the head! Holy frell, I have the political savvy of an adolescent squirrel and even  _ I _ know that’s scandalous. Not to mention, totally uncalled-for!

Frankly the posturing made no sense to me. Why did they come at all, if only to say “None of this matters, we’re leaving!” It seemed bizarrely juvenile of them, and Cassandra, er,  _ Seeker Pentaghast _ , said that it was entirely out of character for the Lord Seeker to behave that way. His energy tasted weird, too, like he wasn’t  _ quite _ a real person, if that makes sense. I’m not sure what that even means. All the Seekers and Templars and Mages I’ve met here so far taste a little weird, honestly, but they still all seem like  _ people _ . I don’t entirely understand their command structure. I thought the Seekers and Templars were separate organizations, but I guess it’s more like the Seekers are Templar Special Ops?

I went over to check on the Chantry Mother who had been assaulted, to see if she needed healing. She was bitter, of course, and felt humiliated. I tried to be gentle, and persuasive. I told her it was not too late for the Chantry and the Inquisition to work together.

She said, “We are not trying to back a winning horse, we are just trying to do what is right.”

_ Right. _

I glared at the woman, and began ranting, my voice low with fury at first, but rising steadily until I was yelling at her, full volume. I was drawing an audience, and I didn’t fucking care.

“ _ Let me get this straight. _ There is a  _ hole _ in the  _ sky _ . Fade rifts are pouring out demons throughout Ferelden and Orlais,  _ at least _ . Rogue Templars and rebel mages are killing each other openly in the Hinterlands, and your plains are wracked by civil war, all without any regard for innocent bystanders. Raiders and bandits are preying on the weak, driving people from their homes. Refugees are starving and freezing to death throughout the countryside.

“And you think the  _ right  _ thing to do with your time as Chantry Mothers is to stand on a platform in the middle of the richest, most protected city in Orlais, denouncing the efforts of the Right and Left Hands of the  _ Divine herself _ to protect all those people and restore order,  _ according to her holy writ _ , all on the grounds that a single woman may be too much of a threat to your authority?

_ “Bullshit! _ You want the Herald of Andraste? I’ll give you Herald of Andraste. Here’s your damned message:

“The Maker never abandoned you! Not a single damned one of you! You abandon  _ Him _ every time you abandon _ each other _ . If you want to see the face of the Maker, stop looking up at the ruptured sky and start looking DOWN!

“Every starving child is a Herald of Andraste.  
Every shivering peasant and terrified refugee is a Herald of Andraste.  
Every abused elf, every casteless dwarf,  
every outcast Tal-Vashoth is a Herald of Andraste.   
Every tortured and tranquilized mage,  
every abandoned Templar dying of lyrium withdrawal  
is a  _ fucking Herald of Andraste _ !

If you want to do what’s right, get off your asses and  _ help them _ !”

I turned away from the Mothers and looked around at the gathering crowd, still livid, still shouting, and now gesturing with sweeping arms.

“If you want to do what’s right,  _ stand up! _

If you’re not starving, feed someone who is!  
If you’re not freezing, warm someone who is!  
If you’re not homeless, shelter someone who is!  
If you’re not afraid, comfort someone who is!  
And if you ARE afraid, comfort each other!” 

I turned back to the Mothers, pointing at the city gates, my whole body shaking with rage.

“If  _ really _ you want to do what’s  _ right _ , get out there and  _ do your fucking jobs! _ ”

And then I turned on my heel and stalked away, seething, with Cassandra and the others right behind me.

Varric was chuckling quietly. Josephine is going to kill me.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music credits to Heather Alexander (Deirdre's Lament), Sweet Honey in the Rock (Breaths), John Newton (Amazing Grace), and Fraggle Rock (Dixie Wailin').
> 
> Leliana is quoting the Chant of Light from the game.
> 
> The quote about "Truth in our Saying" is from Diana Paxson's Oracular Seidh ritual script.
> 
> The rest of the songs and poetry are my own.


	4. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember starts to make some friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I probably have the first dozen or so chapters of this ready. How often should I post them until I hit the ones that aren't ready? Just, as soon as possible? Once a week in the hopes I can keep a schedule (like the one I'm failing to keep for Coyote *cough*) once I catch up to myself?
> 
> I'd appreciate your opinions in the comments.

First Enchanter Vivienne certainly knows how to make an entrance!

I still wore my decorative armor to the party, though I’d of course taken the time to wash up and put my hair in a slightly more artistic updo. As soon as I was announced, there were masked nobles flirting with me, asking if all the rumors they’d heard were true.

“That depends. What have you heard?”

A woman with a high, lilting voice replied from behind her shining mask and beflowered hat. “They say the Maker has gifted you with the power to close those horrible rifts.”

“I  _ can  _ close the rifts, yes.”

“They say you were delivered from the fade by Andraste herself!”

“I have heard that one,” I replied, cautiously.

“They say you gather in the moonlight for bare-skinned revels!”

I raised an eyebrow, and replied, wryly, “Alas, I have not been able to talk them into orgies yet. Maybe when the weather improves.” She laughed at what I sincerely hope was obviously a joke. Not that I’d be offended if they wanted to have orgies to celebrate the spring. Surprised, yes, offended, no.

“What a delight you are!” She continued, about to ask another question, when we were interrupted by a donkey in an ill-fitting doublet and boring mask.

“The Inquisition, Ha!” He went on at some length, posturing and posing, while deriding what few friends I have in this world. Meh, troll. I tried ignoring him but the other guests seemed to take his babbling as the evening’s entertainment.

When I asked his point, he tried to challenge me to a duel. Then he froze. Literally.

And “Madame de Fer” came gliding down the staircase, mahogany skin in smooth contrast to a silver mask and blue-trimmed gown. She regally scolded the Marquis for his rudeness to her honored guest. First Enchanter Vivienne, of course.

She offered his consequences to me, but I do not believe in feeding trolls. I handed it right back, saying he did not matter to me. So she gave him a verbal dressing down that would make a steel magnolia blush, and let him go.

Game, set, match.

\-----

We have acquired a scrappy blonde elf named Sera who is wicked good with a bow, and apparently has all kinds of friends in low places. She and her “Friends of Red Jenny” tipped us off to some lesser noble wannabe who was scheming against the Inquisition. Then she stole his troops’ trousers, and helped my companions kill them all. Not my favorite way to handle things, but they were apparently planning to assassinate me or something.

She doesn’t flinch at the killing, but she flinches at my sesquipedalian vocabulary. She would only be out of place at a punk concert because they haven’t invented safety pins here yet. And she’s unabashedly lesbian, which is kind of awesome. I wasn’t sure if Thedas had any out queer folk, but it seems skin color and sexual orientation take a far back seat to ear shape, and the ability to light things on fire with your mind. 

\-----

I caught up with Commander Rutherford today, since I’d been sent to talk to the blacksmiths anyway, and he drills the soldiers across the gateway from the forges. He’s a snarky one when he’s sure he’s right. Not as harsh as a stereotypical US drill sergeant, by any means, but definitely as exasperated by ineptitude.

He started to explain something to me, and then apologized, saying I hadn’t come for a lecture. I assured him that I was perfectly happy for a lecture if he had one prepared. I would like to understand as much as I can about the Inquisition, if I’m to help. Especially if they’re going to keep asking for my opinion in the council chamber!

I did ask if he minds calling me “Ember” instead of “Herald”, and my calling him “Cullen” in return, at least when formality isn’t explicitly required of us. He stammered, and said it was alright with him if I didn’t think it was too forward. I assured him that it was perfectly normal where I come from.

\-----

Sister Leliana asked me to track down a Grey Warden named Blackwall, somewhere in the Hinterlands. I have no idea why she thinks I’m any good at tracking, but apparently the most useful role I can fill within the Inquisition, aside from wandering around closing rifts, is recruiting. Provided I can actually  _ find _ the people I’m supposed to recruit.

Between Scout Harding’s advice and the input of a fellow at the crossroads outside Redcliffe, we did manage to track Warden Blackwall down. He was helping a handful of farmers learn some self defense, so they could take back what a bunch of bandits had stolen from them.

The bandits had the terrible luck to show up to ambush the group just as we arrived; they got rather more than they bargained for. I didn’t even have to heal anybody, the poor bastards were so outnumbered.

Blackwall sent the farmers back to their families, and tried to answer our questions as to why he was the only Warden we could find in Southern Thedas. Unfortunately, he had no useful answers for us.

But he did volunteer to join the Inquisition. Without my prompting, even.

Maybe everybody just likes my dimples?

\-----

I found our resident fade expert sitting outside the apothecary’s cottage, drawing with charcoal on parchment. I cleared my throat politely, to avoid startling him.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, without looking up.

I bit my lip, not sure how to start. “I’d... like to know more about you, Solas.”

He went very still. “Why?”

I blinked. “I need a reason?”

He tilted his head, but didn’t look at me. “Perhaps.”

“Well, you do go wandering through my dreamspace a lot. Shouldn’t I know who it is I’m letting in?”

“A fair point.” He looked up at me, finally, and gestured for me to sit with him. “What can I tell you?”

“I… hmm, well, they keep saying you’re a fade expert. What’s that about?”

He looked out across the mountains, and took a deep breath, as if gathering his memories before beginning. “I grew up in a village to the North. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the fade, became troublesome. Over time, of course I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore.”

That sounded pretty familiar. How much of my own time has been spent learning to handle my dreaming—control, memory, interpretation, deliberate waking journey trance, and all? “There’s only so much time one can spend in dreams, or even meditation,” I mused.

He nodded. “In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the fade.”

“You don’t enjoy experiencing life for its own sake?”

“Certainly.” His smile was wry, maybe a little self-mocking.

“And yet,” I returned his smile, knowingly.

He shrugged slightly and turned away, once again the impassive lecturer. “You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit. You have chosen a path you do not dislike because it leads you to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “‘ _ Indomitable focus _ ’?”

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated,” he smiled. “I imagine the sight would be… fascinating.”

I shook my head, too many responses crowding my mind at once.

Focus isn’t a side benefit, it’s my primary goal!

Is Solas  _ flirting with me _ ?

Well, not focus, more  _ will _ , like he said. It’s my sense of self-sovereignty that’s indomitable, really. I train my focus in order to reinforce my will.

Dominated? He wants to see me  _ dominated… _ Is that an offer or a threat?

Okay,  _ yes _ , focus - gods know I need the help. But indomitable? Hardly!  _ Squirrel?! _

I’m not really much of a sub. Just for my gods, y’know?

I blinked, and shrugged, and then looked him in the eye with a wry smile. “Yes, well, find me a moment of ecstatic trust, and we’ll talk.”

His turn to raise an eyebrow. “ _ Ma nuvenin _ .” His smile was slow, and deliberate.

And a little unnerving…

\-----

I saw a dragon! Holy fuck, those things are HUGE! They don’t all breathe fire, but some actually do. I’m told all the winged ones are female, and the kind I saw in the sky was a High Dragon, meaning a full-grown adult. They said it was probably a “Vinsomer”, and if so, it breathes lightning!

We went North this week, to an area along the Waking Sea called the Storm Coast. It rains pretty constantly there, apparently. We were at the coast to meet with a mercenary company, led by a huge man with horns named The Iron Bull. The group is called the Bull’s Chargers, and they are indeed very skilled fighters, who work well together as a team. The Iron Bull’s lieutenant, Krem, seems like a really good guy. Down-to-earth, charming, a little snarky, and hella cute. I’m not much for short hair, but it works for him. Pardon me while I very pointedly  _ avoid _ flirting with him until I find out whether it bothers him to be flirted at without intentions.

The Iron Bull himself is... curious. He looks like a minotaur, with a more human face. I’m sure the gods are laughing their collective asses off at me right now, if they can see this, especially Dionysos. The Iron Bull looks like a freakin’ pagan sex god, for fuck’s sake, and he definitely has the voice to match. Not quite my type  _ personally,  _ but it’s still kind of confusing to my symbolic brain.

He’s clearly  _ very _ intelligent, which would be daunting if he wasn’t so easygoing. He actually told me  _ up front _ that he was a spy for the Qunari. Also, he has a thing for redheads. He was referring to Leliana at the time, but he still grinned at me pointedly when he said it. So either he’s a shameless flirt, which would make sense, given his job, or Leliana, Scout Harding, and I are in for an  _ interesting _ time. Yup, the gods are _ definitely _ laughing at me right now.

Bull offered to be my personal bodyguard. I think maybe it would free up Cassandra to focus on things other than just keeping my sorry ass alive; assuming she’d trust anyone else with the task of guarding the Herald of Andraste, that is. I agreed to a provisional hiring of him and his Chargers, pending approval from the Inquisition council.

Assuming they can actually come to a consensus without me breaking the tie...

\-----

The Iron Bull is a handy guy to have around! While we were on the Storm Coast, we parlayed with the leader of a sprawling militia group called the Blades of Hessarian. Hessarian was the Archon in Andraste’s time, and caught a sudden case of mercy in time to make sure Andraste died faster, and he ended up with significant control over the resulting cultus.

So the Blades of Hessarian are a private order of mercenaries who believe they serve Andraste directly by following whoever is strong enough to hold their leadership position by force. That seems like a profound design flaw in their organization, if you ask me.

They had been scuffling with our agents in the area. Several of our scouts went missing. We found their bodies, along with convenient information on a symbol called “Mercy’s Crest”, which serves as their white flag. So of course we wore them to get into their camp, find out what the hell they were on about, and ultimately challenge their asshole leader to a duel.

The Iron Bull served as my champion, and now they serve me. I gather that isn’t quite how things are usually done, but they  _ really _ didn’t like their previous leader, and really, really wanted to align themselves with “The Herald of Andraste”, given the nature of their order, so we all kind of nodded and smiled and handed them over to Cullen. So they’re still holding the Storm Coast, but now they’re doing it in our name—using their existing resources—helping who we help, reporting on who we watch, and interfering with our enemies.

I did suggest that they not advertise their new allegiance just yet, in case my advisors disapproved of the plan. As it turned out, Leliana rather liked the idea of them keeping it a secret. I’m pretty sure she likes keeping secrets for their own sake… 

That was almost  _ too _ easy. I’d be waiting for the other shoe to drop if I had the time.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rearrange a few scenes to make chapter breaks make sense. I apologize if that accidentally makes for a few minor continuity errors! It *should* be okay...


	5. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember needs to figure out how her magic fits in around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I have the patience or bandwidth to go with a schedule on this yet. I'll post chapters every few days as I get the urge, I suppose. -E-

I sat on the dock of the frozen lake, experimenting with elemental energy work the way I’d learned it at home. I took off my gloves and focused on warming my hands, only for them to burst into flame. I hastily shoved them into the snow with alarm, before putting my gloves back on. Fire was, if anything, a bit  _ too _ easy. I supposed that shouldn’t surprise me, but it did.

Well, what about my weaker suits, then? I got back to my feet and closed my eyes, my arms out, to try singing to the wind. I focused for a moment on where I wanted the wind to flow from and to, and on opening the space to allow the wind to pass through. Then I took a deep breath and sang:

__“Blow, blow little breeze  
From o’er the seas  
Let us join in the chase  
While away we are furled  
‘Til my tresses are curled  
And I rest in my place.”

It was a modified version of the charm the Little Goose Girl sang in the Victorian translation of Grimms’ fairy tales that I grew up reading. At home it was usually enough to air out my car on a too-hot day. Here?

The wind came rushing down the valley, icy cold across the snow and knocked me off the little pier onto the ice. Thank  _ whoever _ that the ice was very  _ solid _ ! At first I couldn’t breathe, and I lay there for a moment on my back, just trying to inhale again, counting the aches and throbbing pains across my body. My knees felt strained, and my elbows were bruised. Many layers of clothing saved me from cuts or worse bruising, and stiff boots saved my ankles from sprains, but my head was throbbing horribly, and I could feel on the back of my skull where it must have hit the ice pretty hard.

I may have passed out for a moment, because it seemed like I’d only just blinked before I rolled over, groaning, to find Cullen and Cassandra carefully making their way down the steep, snow-covered bank, and Solas already squatting at my side on the ice, looking me over with concern.

“What happened?” the Elven mage asked me quietly.

“I was trying to see if my wind spell from home works here,” I rasped up to him, reaching up to touch the back of my head where I’d slammed it on the ice.

“Clearly, it does. You pushed too hard and hurt yourself?”

“I didn’t  _ push _ at all. I  _ invited _ the wind to blow. I guess that was the wrong method for here. The wind knocked me right off the dock.”

“Ah, so that is what attracted the attention of local spirits.”

“Well, yeah, that was the point. Is that bad? I’m not very good with air at home so I’ve learned to outsource it. I thought it would be harder...” I tried to sit up the rest of the way only to find myself nauseous. “Ooohhhh boy. Dizzy!”

Cassandra and Cullen had caught up with us, and reached down to help me stand, but Solas stopped them. “Let me heal her head first.”

“At least she didn’t break anything,” Cullen replied with obvious relief.

“I’m usually pretty durable,” I admitted, ruefully. “The most I’ve ever broken is a toe, and not for lack of trying, either.”

Solas’ hands were warm on the back of my head, and my throbbing headache eased away. I sighed with relief, nodding to him. “Thank you, Solas.”

The Seeker and Commander hauled me to my feet as gently as possible, and the three walked me back to the tavern for something warm to drink.

As Cullen returned to his duties, Solas sent Cassandra to fetch our drinks, so he could speak to me without her for a moment.

“You must be more careful. It seems you have a knack for spirit magic in general, not just healing, and not all forms of spirit magic are safe to practice in the open.”

“I will study more theory, before I try again,” I agreed. “Thank you.”

\-----

Time is hard to measure in the fade, but I’d blocked out the afternoon to work with Solas on my magic, so we had plenty of it. Ashes and Rabbit both appeared to watch from nearby. Solas merely acknowledged them with a brief nod before diving right in.

“What do you wish to try first?” he prompted.

“Elements, I think. Earth, air, fire, water.”

“You call fire easily enough.”

“Yes, and water. But fire is a terrible way to fight. It damages the nearby plants and buildings, and kills slowly, with much suffering. I’d rather find other ways if I’m going to use magic to fight. Kill more cleanly, or not kill at all.”

“Ice magic is not necessarily faster, but it causes less suffering, as it numbs before it kills, and can be made sharp to cut cleanly. It does less damage to surroundings, and can be used to slow enemies you don’t want to kill.”

“Then I should work on ice. Liquid water I was good with back home, but not so much ice. _ ” _

“Why don’t you start by calling forth the elements you know, and we’ll go from there.”

I nodded, and willed the memory of my redwood staff to my hands. It’s much shorter than the staves they use for magical combat here, but it was not a weapon for me. I stood up straight, my feet planted firmly, shoulder-width apart, and wrapped my hands around the top of my staff, its point also firmly planted. I closed my eyes, centered myself, grounded and crowned my energy, and then focused intently.

To my right I raised a standing wave of water. To my left a matching wall of fire. At my back I raised a wall of earth and stone. Before me I  _ allowed _ the air to swirl with intent. Then I opened my eyes, and was startled to see that what I had always pictured as an invisible metaphor for the energies I was raising was quite visibly literal here.

I closed my eyes again, and visualized spirit descending from above, weaving and spiraling the four physical elements together into something dynamic and whole, colors blending into a rainbow and fractaling into winding vines that then burst open with flowers and fruit.

I opened my eyes again, and sure enough, the air around me was swirling with colors, and blackberry vines were winding in a wide circle around me from the ground to well above my head.

Beyond the swirling energies, I saw Solas watching, his expression one of bemusement.

I closed my eyes again, and visualized a funnel, syphoning all the energies I’d raised arcing up and then down into the center, forming a tightly wound ball in my left hand, incandescent white, with little golden and silver sparkles washing around it.

I opened my eyes again and found that the ball was not as brightly glowing as I’d pictured, nor were there sparkles, but otherwise what was before me did indeed match my intentions. I walked forward to Solas, the glowing ball in my hand, showing it to him.

“Well, that was a good deal more successful than I was expecting!”

“You are clearly very practiced at that, but what purpose does it serve?”

“That’s the process for gathering energy towards whatever purpose we choose, really. Back home, all that would have been invisible to most people, and certainly not nearly so physically present. I would take the ball of energy, imbue it with my intent or instructions, and then release it to pursue its purpose.”

Solas tilted his head. “May I take the ball from you?” he asked.

“Sure.”

I handed the glowing ball of dense elemental energies to Solas, who proceeded to twist his hands around it, as if opening the ball like a container, and then the energies all seemed to flow into him.

I blinked.

“ _ Never swallow an energy field larger than your head, _ ” I muttered, half smiling.

Solas looked at me, smiling, eyebrows furrowed. “Never what?”

I shook my head, chuckling. “It’s an old joke that my fellow spirit workers back home consider useful advice. ‘Never summon anything you can’t put back. Never swallow an energy field larger than your head.’ Having done both in my time, I have to say, it’s good advice.”

“Neither should be a problem if you know what you are doing.”

“Well, it’s more of a  _ guideline _ , really,” I replied, affecting a Ferelden accent. Solas looked at me even more strangely and laughed.

“You know what I find most useful about your methods, Ember?” I raised both eyebrows, my jaw momentarily slack. Solas used my name!

I shook myself and cleared my throat. “No, Solas, what is it you find most useful about my methods?”

“You do not make wild gestures. You summon and move the elements using no more than the movements of your breath. If you can do this with your eyes open, and transfer these abilities to the waking world, you could be a very powerful and very  _ subtle _ mage indeed!”

“I do use gestures for some kinds of ritual, actually. But Solas, you use gestures yourself. It seems everyone here does. Is it not necessary in the physical world?”

“It is not, though it can be very enjoyable, like a dance. I do it because it is expected. Others do it because it’s all they were taught. It is certainly an easier way to teach children how to control their magic.”

“In a world where children can accidentally call down lightning storms, that makes perfect sense. I suppose it’s a strange blessing to have come from a world where magic is so much more subtle to work with.”

“It may yet prove to be a profound advantage. As will your shapeshifting, if you can translate that to the waking world.”

“I’ve been told stories about shapeshifters here, but I haven’t seen anything yet. It’s rare, I take it?”

“It is an old Elvhen art. Few today know how, most notably the Witches of the Wild.”

“Interesting. Shapeshifting in dreams and spirit journeys is easy in my experience, but true shapeshifting in the physical world is impossible where I come from. We do have stories about it, but we have stories about all kinds of impossible things, so that’s not saying much.”

“Would you like to work on shapeshifting next?”

“Mmm, I’d rather work on ice attacks for a while, please.”

“As you wish. But for combat training we should _ wake up. _ ”

\-----

I stood outside the gates of Haven, facing a row of training dummies, with an ice staff in one hand, and my found sword in the other. Solas stood beside me. Seeker Pentaghast and Commander Rutherford stood to either side of us, out of our immediate reach. Beyond them, various agents and soldiers had stopped to watch. This was not what I was expecting, or even wanted, really, but I tried to focus.

“Focus on me, Herald,” Solas began. “For combat, it is useful to point to your target, both to direct your focus, and so that others fighting with you can follow your intent.”

“That makes sense,” I nodded sharply. “I would rather learn to do this with a sword than a staff. Is that an option?”

“If you like. Staves are built for this purpose, to aid in gathering energies and directing your magic. They are lighter, and can be equipped with a blade. An ordinary sword may be an obstacle to the flow. Perhaps a suitable weapon can be crafted for your preferences, in time, however. For now, let us begin with the staff.”

I walked over and handed my sword to the Seeker, before returning to my teacher.

Solas began by showing me footwork, stances to keep my body and energy balanced and grounded, allowing me to draw up energy through my feet so that I wouldn’t become depleted so quickly. Nothing unfamiliar to me. It was like a Kata, choreography. I picked it up quickly, which seemed to please both the Seeker and the Commander.

Then Solas showed me how to move the staff to gather ambient energies and then direct them with force towards a target. This was slightly more difficult. I’d played with short staves and broomsticks before, so the spinning motions themselves were familiar. But I wasn’t used to the extra length and weight of a full mage’s staff, nor was I used to combining these motions with deliberate energy work.

“Relax, Herald,” Solas instructed. “The staff is designed to do some of the work for you. Allow it to pull the energies in with the motion, rather than exerting yourself to do it consciously.”

Ah. Alright then. I paused, took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders and head, and then returned to the stance, and began again, this time more relaxed. It really was more like dancing this way. It was fun! I ran through the motions several times, picking up speed as I went, until I was grinning.

“Excellent!” he concluded, when I had run through the kata several times. “Now, when you reach this point in the cycle, focus on your target, and direct the ice energy.”

“Push or release?”

“It will depend on how much energy you have collected. Done right, it is a release, but when you are depleted, you may need to push.”

“Right. Okay, let me try that.” I ran through the steps again, aiming and releasing when I reached the appropriate point. A small burst of ice grazed the shoulder of the dummy, most of it flying past it to hit the already-frozen ground.

“Good. Your timing was off. The focus of your aim should prevent mistakes, but if you do not time the release with the motion of the staff, errors can be introduced.”

“Okay.” I tried again, moving more slowly, to mark the timing. A smaller burst struck the center of the dummy’s torso. I nodded in satisfaction, and repeated the sequence a few more times.

“Good.” Solas interrupted, before I could begin a fourth time. “Now, if you wish a more powerful strike - and I assume you will - repeat the steps several times before releasing.”

“There must be a faster way.”

“There are, but not with this sequence. I will teach you more sequences once you have learned this one.”

“Fair enough.” I ran through the kata three times, only releasing on the third. The dummy was enveloped in crackling ice. Several of the onlookers cheered, and the Commander barked, “Yes!”

“Herald, are you truly only just learning this?” the Seeker asked. “If so, you are a very fast learner!”

“I had many years of dance training as a child, and a little bit of training in martial arts. This particular thing I have never learned before, no, but the pieces are familiar, and the process of learning this way isn’t new to me at all.”

“You’ve had martial arts training?” the Commander asked, surprised.

“Not much. Just the first couple of kata in Shotokan. I didn’t get very far.” Right, they probably didn’t have any equivalents to Japan in reach here, did they? “It’s a hand-to-hand combat… thing,” I clarified, awkwardly. “I only learned the basics. Stances, punches, some kicks, a bit of grappling. I haven’t kept up the practice, though.”

“You also hold a sword as if it’s familiar, but you don’t strike with precision,” the Seeker observed.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ve had even less training with a sword, but I was at least taught how to hold a one-sided blade correctly, and the basic strikes and blocks, using a wooden practice sword. I’m not practiced with the weight of a real metal sword, and I haven’t used one enough for it to be muscle memory yet.”

“Would you like me to teach you?” she asked.

“I would be honored, Seeker! But I can’t imagine it’s the best use of your time,” I replied, startled.

“It is no trouble. I would… enjoy it.” She blushed. Why did she blush? Please tell me the Seeker of all people knows better than to put me on a pedestal.

Solas intervened, clearing his throat for our attention. “I believe this lesson is concluded, Herald. Please practice these forms until they are comfortable, and if you have any questions, I will be happy to answer them.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you Solas!” I agreed. “Seeker, I would be happy to work on sword skills now, if you have the time.”

She smiled, and nodded. The Commander barked at his soldiers that they all knew what sword practiced looked like, and they’d better prove it now. They all jumped back to work, as the Seeker handed me my sword, and gestured for me to approach the targets.

“To begin, show me what you know,” she instructed.

“It’s not much, but sure.” I grasped my sword with both hands, holding it low. Then I moved the blade through four distinct motions, blocking above and below to each side, and then again striking above and below to each side. “That’s really all I know,” I admitted, with a sheepish smile.

She returned my smile. “At least you do not have to unlearn anything. Let’s begin with stances.”

\-----


	6. Cryptic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanging out around Haven, mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ongoing gratitude to UncleDark and Cowline for their help editing! <3 -E-

“Herald! Ah, _Ember,_ do you have a moment?” Cullen used my name! He trotted to catch up with me as I walked up the stone steps into Haven proper, towards my room.

I smiled at him, encouragingly. “Sure, Cullen, what can I do for you?”

“You said you wanted to hear my lecturing, to understand my role in the Inquisition better. Would you like to go over these reports with me?” he offered.

“Oh! Yes, thank you. That could be very useful. If I wouldn’t be in the way, that is.”

“Not at all. Sometimes it’s good to have company while working, and I would be happy to instruct you.”

“Where to, then? Do you have an office somewhere?” I suddenly realized that I only knew where Ambassador Montilyet’s office was. Sister Leliana seemed to work wherever she was standing, and Seeker Pentaghast was in constant motion. I knew where Commander Rutherford’s quarters were, but I’d never checked whether he had a desk there.

“I do, but the war room might be more helpful for illustrating,” he suggested.

I grinned. “Okay! But, um, I’d like to get cleaned up first, please. Meet you there in about fifteen minutes?”

He smiled back, “Agreed. See you there.”

\-----

Well, _that_ could have been much worse.

When I returned to my quarters after Cullen’s lessons this evening, my journal papers were missing. _Grrrrrr._ I went to find the young elf woman who usually brought food and linens to my quarters and asked if she’d seen them. She blushed and glanced over her shoulder at Leliana before looking down.

“You gave them to Sister Leliana?” I asked, in as neutral a tone as I could manage. The poor girl was scared enough of me as it was.

She bit her lip, nervously, and nodded.

“May I ask why?”

“They were in code.”

“Yes…? Ah! Yes. Well that makes sense, but no, they’re just my journal entries. I didn’t want people to read them by accident.” I explained, and then sighed. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll go speak with her now.”

“You’re… You’re not mad at me, mistress, Herald?” she all but squeaked.

I paused, and then shrugged. “No, not really. But, in the future, ask me first, okay? I understand that you need to change the linens, and I assume it’s you who takes my clothing to be cleaned when I’m not looking. Thank you very much for that, by the way. So, I don’t want to interfere with your job, or get you in any trouble, but if you don’t need to clean it, please leave it alone or ask me first. Does that seem fair?”

“As you say, mistress!” she agreed, rushed. “I’m sorry mistress!” and then she ran away from me again. I sighed, watching her go. I don’t mind being served, like in restaurants and stuff. But servers are still my peers. She obviously expected a much bigger social gap than I did, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

I approached Leliana with caution, as she was in the middle of a conversation with one of her agents. But I quickly realized from the snippets I heard that they were discussing killing a double agent who had betrayed her. I probably shouldn’t have, but I spoke up.

“Do you have to kill them?”

Leliana looked at me sharply. “He betrayed us. He murdered my agent.”

“Okay, but killing him seems like a waste. He knows things, maybe important things. Shouldn’t you _use_ him?”

“Butler's betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens! I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this!” She was angry with me. I should probably have backed down. She’s the expert, after all. But I’ve never been very good at letting an ethical debate go.

“This is precisely the time for ideals!” I argued, earnestly. “If we can’t uphold our values when it matters the most, then why do we have them at all?”

She turned away, and then sighed. “You feel very strongly about this. Very well, I will think of another way to deal with this man.” She turned to her agent. “Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives.” The agent nodded and left us.

“Thank you, Sister Leliana,” I said, quietly, biting my lip to avoid apologizing. I was sure of my moral compass, but I didn’t usually interfere with her job, and I was suddenly ashamed of overstepping my bounds.

“You are welcome, Herald. I hope you are right.” She shook her head, and then turned to look at me again, schooling her features. “Now, if you're happy, I have more work to do. Was there a reason you came to see me?”

“Ah, yes, sorry.” I stood up straighter, and looked her in the eyes. “Did you receive a stack of papers written in code, from my room?”

“I did, yes,” she replied slowly, raising an eyebrow. “I have not had the chance to break the cypher yet. Where did you get them?”

“Oh, I wrote them. They’re just my personal journal.” Her lips narrowed slightly. I shrugged, “I can teach you the alphabet I used, if you want. I don’t mind _you_ reading them. I just didn’t want random people to stumble on them, all things considered. But I can’t imagine it’s complex enough to be useful to you in the field. At least, not by itself.”

She tilted her head then, considering my answer. Then her face softened, and she smiled slightly. Nodding, she turned to rifle through one of the chests. Her hands came back up with the stack of my journal papers, and offered them to me. “Where did you learn it?”

I accepted the papers and smiled, remembering; “A friend and I invented it when we were in school together. The teacher had a habit of catching notes as they were passed and reading them out loud to the whole class. I was too stubborn to give up passing notes with my friend, and too jealous to allow them to be read to the class.” I grinned. “The one time he caught one of our notes, he stood up to open it dramatically in front of everyone, and then squinted and asked what archaic language it was written in!”

She actually laughed, “What did he do? Were you punished?”

“No, he just gave the note back, disgruntled. I think he secretly liked it. He never called it out, but I knew from the listings that I got some of the highest scores in the class. He took to referencing me as an example, whenever he could.” I feigned a low, nasal voice, “‘Rebellion can be subtle.’ ‘The truly unique require no persuasion.’ He thought the other kids were trying too hard to be interesting, I guess.”

“Well, he’s certainly right about one thing,” she sighed, ruefully, “You are very _unique_.”

“Thank you, Leliana. I think?” I watched as she schooled her features once more.

“Go,” she replied, abruptly back to her prior stern mood. “Bring me the cypher key at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course,” I agreed, and then left her to her duties.

\-----

"Hey Pipes, how are you holding up?" Varric asked, his tone light as usual.

"Not bad all things considered. How are you, Varric?" I said, slightly distracted by my journaling.

"Pretty good, actually," he replied cheerfully.

"Oh?" I looked up. Varric was usually snarkily charming, but I hadn't seen him actually _happy_ before. "Good news?"

"I got an update from my friends today. They're doing fine. Everyone on that front is safe and sound as of this letter." His smile grew wide.

I returned his smile. "That's wonderful, Varric!"

"So, you're a singer _and_ a writer, eh?"

"Oh, this is just my journal. But yes, I do write songs and poetry sometimes."

"So, those songs you sang for the dead...?"

"I wrote about half of them, yeah. Some of them were for the Ancestors, and a few were for specific Powers."

"You know, Dwarves are all about the Ancestors. At least, the ones who hold to tradition are."

"Do you honor the Ancestors?"

"Me? Nah, I don't much hold with Dwarven traditions. I was born and raised on the surface, not a day of stone sense in my life. My parents, though, and my older brother? They were born in Orzammar, so they were all about the Stone and the Ancestors and the Paragons."

"It sounds fascinating. I'd love to know more!" I smiled, enthusiastically.

He chuckled. "Really? I always thought it was pretty dull."

"I'm a religious scholar, Varric. I find almost all faith traditions interesting."

"Well, there you go, then. So if you're really into your gods, and studying religions, how are you with being called the ‘Herald of Andraste’?"

"Ehh, I'm ambivalent," I said, tilting my head back and forth. "It would hardly be the first time I got sent to deliver messages for invisible friends, but I strongly prefer to actually _meet_ the client before taking on a job."

Varric laughed, "You consider delivering divine prophecy _make-work_?"

"Well, when you do enough of it, yeah," I grinned. "There are a lot of gods where I come from."

Varric shook his head, "I couldn't make you up, Pipes. Nobody is going to believe a word I write about you."

I stared at him, disbelieving. "You're writing about me?"

"I'm writing about all of this, yeah. Like I did for Hawke. Somebody who actually saw it up close should tell the story, or they'll just mangle it. I'm a writer, it's what I do. Does that bother you?"

"I don't know. It's just... I know a lot of writers, and I'm pretty sure you're the first to threaten me with novelization, Varric."

"Threaten?" he laughed, "I promise to make you look good. Godly, even."

"I suppose you'll be asking for my journals to work from?"

He held up his hands, placatingly. "I would never presume to read your private journals." Then he grinned. "But if you're _offering_..."

"Ha! Well, you wouldn't be the only one reading them anyway. I already gave the cypher to our spymistress."

"She'd have figured it out eventually anyway."

"Yup. And so would most of you, given time, I'm sure. Especially you. It's not that complicated. But I wanted her to know I wasn't trying to hide anything from her."

"Smart move," Varric nodded, sagely.

"Oh good!" I said, sighing in relief. "I'm used to extending trust to gain trust, but I've never dealt with spymasters before, so I wasn't sure if I was doing it right."

"You're doing just fine, Pipes," he assured me.

\-----

I’ve been reading whatever I can to understand the war between the Mages and Templars. The Conclave was intended as a peace summit. Obviously that failed, but without a better idea of how they got there, I don’t see how we can possibly sort it all out.

Varric has been the most helpful. He’s pleased to sit for any length of time telling me the stories of the major events that led up to this point, as long as he has an ale in his hand. He’s gone over the events of the Fifth Blight and the events leading up to the explosion of the Chantry in Kirkwall that most blame for kicking off the war proper.

I’ve taken to sitting on the retaining wall next to the fire where Varric likes to hang out on the far side of Leliana’s logistics tent, reading whichever book or scrolls I can find on relevant topics. I’m not sure exactly why, but I find this invites people to interrupt me with their own opinions and information on whatever I’m trying to learn, and in this case, that’s actually helpful.

Solas, of all people, found me reading up on the Battle of Ostagar today.

“You should go there and see for yourself,” he suggested. “I dreamt at Ostagar once. I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Fereldan warriors. I saw Alistair and Kaigan light the signal fire and Loghain's infamous betrayal of Cailan's forces.”

“Really? How do you get the memories to play like that? At home, all I ever got was the memories of the land itself, showing me old shapes, buildings or waters or roads that aren’t there anymore. But never human interactions. It would be very interesting to see what actually happened first hand.”

“That's just it. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

“So which do you believe is real?”

“It is the fade. They are _all_ real,” he replied.

“ _Truth is a three-edged sword_ ,” I quoted in a mysterious voice. I bet Solas would have identified with Kosh.

He looked at me quizzically, like he couldn’t decide if I was mocking him.

“It’s a quote from a story back home,” I explained. “Truth always has at least three sides - my side, your side, and whatever actually happened. I’m not sure I agree with that last part, though. That implies there’s a truly objective perspective to be had, when at best all we can do is triangulate from all the subjective ones.”

“You do not believe in objective reality?”

“I don’t know, honestly. But I know I don’t believe we ever directly _experience_ it. We’re too limited. We need the filters to turn all that raw information into something we can handle. Mere mortals can not afford objectivity, and I’m not sure even the gods can truly attain it. By definition, anything that makes you specific enough to have a personality, motivations, _will,_ also limits you from the undifferentiated Whole. If you have a perspective in the first place, it _can’t_ be an objective one.”

He just said, “Fascinating.”

I blushed. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you.”

“Not at all. But what about reading the history of the Fifth Blight makes you think of such abstract philosophies?”

“Oh, I always think about abstract philosophies,” I replied, waving one hand carelessly. “It’s a hobby.”

He smiled slightly. “We should discuss them more often, then.”

I grinned back, surprised. “Really? Somebody here might want to hear about my inverted koosh-ball theory of Divine Identity? Or multi-world intersections of linear and cyclical time? Be careful what you wish for, Solas,” I warned, mock-sternly.

His eyes narrowed with amusement. “ _Always._ ”

\-----

I was dreaming in a meadow surrounded by the rolling hills of oak woodland from my home. I looked up to the sky, enjoying the sun warming my face for a moment, and then I began to sing:  
  
_“Come to my garden nestled in the hills_  
_There I’ll keep you safe beside me._  
_Come to my garden, rest there in my arms_  
_There I’ll see you safely grown and on your way!_  
_Stay there in my garden as days grow long and wild_  
_Come to my garden, come sweet child!”_

I was singing to the wildflowers around me, simply for the joy of singing. It was my habit back home to sing to the land and water spirits as an offering, whenever I found myself somewhere particularly beautiful, or moving.

I heard a barking sound, and a howl from the sky, and the next moment a silver-winged wolf came gliding down to my meadow, and then running across the wildflower grasses to tackle me in his excitement.

“Anselm!” I laughed, delighted, “You found me! Oh thank Oski, how did you find me? Did the Old Man send you?”

Anselm doesn’t have the hang of talking to humans just yet, so he just wagged his tail and licked my face, and then pranced around me as I sat cross-legged in the grass. I ran my fingers through his fur roughly, rewarding and calming Him simultaneously.

Then Ashes emerged from wherever she’d been hiding, and came up to sniff at Anselm in greeting. They circled each other, briefly, before settling down before me, faces close, as if having a quiet conversation. I suppose Ashes was probably updating Anselm on what he’d missed.

“I did not know you enjoyed the company of wolves,” a low voice spoke up behind me.

“Solas! This is my personal guardian, Anselm. My spirit-father gave him to me some years ago. I’m not sure how he found me here. Anselm, this is Solas. He saved my life when I arrived here.”

“You are certain this is your wolf, and not an impostor?” Solas asked, warily.

“As sure as I can be. His energy tastes the same, and Ashes knew him immediately.”

“Fair enough.” Solas reached out a graceful hand, for Anselm to sniff, murmuring low, almost growling, in an unfamiliar language. Elven, I assume. Anselm sniffed his hand, cautiously, and gave a strange, quiet yip, of warning or acceptance, I wasn’t sure. Solas made no attempt to pet him.

 _Anselm says Solas is a wolf_ , I heard Ashes’ strange voice in my mind.

“Solas is an elf, Anselm, like one of Freyr’s people. If he can turn into a wolf, I’ve never seen it,” I assured my guardian.

Solas looked at Anselm sharply, and then looked up to me, eyebrow raised. “It is difficult to keep secrets from you with your companions near.” He was laughing. I hope that means he didn’t really mind. I suppose not, since he wears that canine jawbone everywhere he goes, and sometimes a wolf pelt. But lots of people wear furs here, and I doubt most of them are claiming affinity by them.

I smiled, wryly, “Sorry, Solas. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. If you have a wolf spirit form that I haven’t seen, it’s no business of mine unless you make it so.”

He tilted his head slightly. “It seems your guardian disagrees.”

“Ah, well, I guess that’s why I have guardians - to be cautious for me.”

“Guardian _s_?” Solas asked, raising his eyebrows, emphasizing the plural.

“Several,” I nodded. “Sometimes it seemed like I was a bundled child, I’ve had so many Powers and allies guarding me. I’m honestly not sure why I get so much protection when others clearly don’t. I can’t be _that_ fucking special,” I added, with a self-deprecating smirk.

“How many guardians do you have?” he asked, ignoring my tone.

I tried to count in my mind, gesturing in the air. “Um, eight or nine, maybe? Depending how you count Them,” I replied, after a moment.

“That is an impressive entourage. Do they serve different purposes?”

“Yeah, well they’re rarely all there at once, and not all of them could be considered my entourage, really. Adele, my shadow, guards me from the dead that I don’t know personally, so they don’t drive me insane. Lion guards everyone I consider family, so I don’t have to do it all directly. Stag provided my spirit armor. Freyja and Papa Ghede each intervene between me and other powers who want my services. Ashes guides and advises me. Rabbit warns me of dangers and helps me hide from them. Both Rabbit and Ashes help me find and deal with spirits I need to talk to. Redwood provides me with a guarded space. And Anselm here is sort of a spiritual bodyguard, I suppose, sent by Odin.“

He nodded thoughtfully, and then tilted his head again. “Why do some have names, but others only forms?”

“Rabbit is a spirit of rabbit-ness, but Ashes was my cat when she was alive. Basically, I call them whatever they tell me to,” I shrugged.

“I see. And how many of those are here in Thedas with you?”

“I don’t know for sure. I at least have my Lion skin, Stag armor, and Redwood staff here in the fade. If Lion is himself with me, that might mean my family is unguarded, which would be bad. Ashes is obviously here, as is Anselm now. Adele wouldn’t show until I needed to see her, so I can’t say if she is here or not, but I haven’t been crowded around by spirits of the dead yet. Then again, from what I’m told of how death works here, maybe I don’t need her help in Thedas in the first place?”

“And the others?” he prompted, clearly curious.

“I have no idea.” I shrugged. “The gods aren’t limited to one location at a time. I assume they are who sent me in the first place. Some sort of deal with Andraste, maybe. But... I haven’t heard any of them since I got here.” My voice had gone low with sorrow.

“You miss them,” Solas observed. I nodded. Ashes purred, and Anselm butted his head under my hand, offering comfort.

Whatever the gods had in mind, I could only hope I’d get the message soon.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The memories, dreams, and spirit relationships Emberquizzy mentions are all based on my actual RL experiences. I only change them as needed to fit the story better. ;)
> 
> "Come To My Garden" lyrics by Marsha Norman, from the Secret Garden musical.


	7. Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember is confronted with others' beliefs about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but there's plenty more coming, I promise! -E-

I’m not sure how comfortable I am being mistaken for an Avvar if this guy is any example.

Our scouts in the Fallow Mire that went missing turn out to have been kidnapped. They’re not being held for ransom, which is a standard practice among mercenaries, I’m told. They’re being held in  _ challenge _ .

It seems their kidnapper is the son of an Avvar clan chief, and is considered chosen by one of their gods. They’re calling him the Hand of Korth. For some reason he has taken my being called ‘the Herald of Andraste’ as a personal challenge, and is demanding that I fight him to the death to get our soldiers back.

I’m hoping I can convince this Hand of Korth that it is no triumph of might to overpower a  _ healer. _ But I’m bringing the Iron Bull along as my champion just in case I don’t have any option other than a one-on-one duel.

\-----

This swamp is  _ visually _ beautiful, in a melancholy Goth sort of way, but wow, does it smell bad! Possibly it’s the dead bodies everywhere; apparently there was a plague recently. They’ve given us balms to coat our skin to prevent us from absorbing too much of the water. And, of course, as it’s a swamp, there is water  _ everywhere _ . Any time we make too many ripples across the surface of the open waters, possessed corpses come rising up out of the swamp. It’s like the prodigal grandchild of the  _ Bog of Eternal Stench _ and the  _ Mere of Dead Faces _ .

At least they’re all carrying their undead allowance. If nothing else, our smiths will appreciate all the scrap metal we’ve been able to collect from their old rusty weapons and armor.

This is the first time I’ve seen Veilfire runes that give a narrative, instead of just an impression of how to create the rune itself via lyrium enchantment. Vague though these rune stories may be, they make more sense to me than someone wandering aimlessly, leaving craft instructions like magic graffiti on random walls. What is this stuff, anyway? The magical equivalent of teenagers tagging street signs?  _ “For a good time make tiny explosives out of glass tiles” _ ?

Well, they make more sense in motivation. They make very little sense in content. Whoever put these down was more than a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

“We can use these to lure them onto dry land, Boss,” the Iron Bull suggested.

“I’d rather not have to fight them at all, Bull. The fewer diseased corpses we have to interact with directly, the better, thanks.”

“But I  _ like _ hitting things, Boss,” he complained.

It seems to be working pretty well, but every time I activate one of those pillars, some terror demons show up too, which complicates things.

Who set this crap up in the first place?  _ Why do we even have that lever? _

\-----

We met an Avvar Skywatcher today named Amund. He seemed like a good man, but wow, huge. Easily seven feet tall without the heavy boots and headdress, and wide like a linebacker. He could give the Iron Bull a run for his money. He was studying a closed-but-not-sealed rift on behalf of his goddess, the Lady of the Skies.

I showed Amund that I can open and seal the rifts. He helped us fend off the resulting demons.

We asked him about the Hand of Korth. He assured us that most Avvar don’t mind me. It seems this chief’s son is trying to prove his calling and wants me for a trophy.

“Good luck healing the sky, Inquisitor,” he added. “May the Lady of the Skies watch over you.”

“Thank you, Amund,” I replied, “May your Lady bless and protect you, as well.”

“She always does,” he assured me.

\-----

Sooo, yeah. Hand of Korth was even bigger than the Skywatcher, and I didn’t even have a chance to introduce myself before he and his followers started attacking us. On the plus side, that meant we could fight  _ our _ way instead of my having to negotiate to have the Iron Bull for my champion. I’m just glad I didn’t have to fight that brute myself. And Bull got to hit him a lot, which no doubt made him happy.

Our scouts were alive. They weren’t well fed, per se, but they weren’t abused either, beyond whatever force was used to capture them. I find it odd and unnerving that they were apparently fully expecting me, personally, to come rescue them. Not the Inquisition in general, or the Seeker, or the Commander, but me, the Herald of Andraste. What am I now, Wonder Woman?

On the upside, Amund greeted us on the way out of the keep, and I was able to convince him to help the Inquisition. He’s willing to teach me more about his culture, and maybe even introduce me to one of their shamans! I’m so excited!

He can’t come back with us immediately, but he promised to find our scouts when he’s ready.

\-----

Almost immediately after we returned to Haven from the Fallow Mire, Leliana invited me to sit down with her and Cassandra to dinner, privately. She had it set up in the room opposite Josephine’s office, which the three ladies apparently shared.

I washed up and took a short nap to recover from our travels before heading to the Chantry.

“Thank you for coming, Herald,” Leliana greeted me politely.

I raised an eyebrow, half smiling. “Please call me ‘Ember’ in private?”

“As you wish,” she agreed smoothly. “Won’t you have a seat? Cassandra will be here shortly, I am certain.”

I nodded, and sat down. _ Why was she being so formal? Was something wrong?  _ I focused on breathing slowly and evenly while we waited in awkward silence for Cassandra to join us. Given Leliana’s reputation, I had to assume that she was deliberately encouraging my discomfort, which only made my anxiety worse. By the time Cassandra came striding in, I was so nervous I jumped to my feet at the sound of the door opening.

“Ember! You are here already!” Cassandra exclaimed. She sounded relieved, not angry. I was even more confused than ever.

“Yeah,” I replied, bewildered. “I didn’t have anything else pressing to do, so I came by a little early. Sorry if I confused you.”

“No, it is fine. I went to your cabin to fetch you because I knew you had been napping, and you sometimes have trouble waking, that’s all. I’m glad you are here,” she assured me. She was clenching and unclenching the hand that was not resting on the hilt of her sword, as if something was making  _ her _ nervous.

“Are you okay, Cassandra?” I asked, worried.

“I’m fine!” She declared firmly, though she sounded like she said it more to convince herself than me.

Leliana cleared her throat. “If you would both sit down, ladies, we have much to discuss.”

We both nodded awkwardly to the spymistress, and quickly sat down as she uncovered the platter at the center of the small table. The meal was simple, but skillfully prepared: roast nug, root vegetables, dried apples, and good brown bread, served with wine and fresh water.

I filled my plate, and started to cut a slice of meat into bites, only to stop, closing my eyes for a moment to take a deep breath, and put my utensils down.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Sister Leliana, what is this about?” I finally asked.

Cassandra sighed, with relief or exasperation, I wasn’t sure.

Leliana just smiled calmly and pulled a handful of pages out of her robes, to place them on the table. I recognised my cypher immediately, and raised both eyebrows, looking up to her expectantly.

“Herald…” she began, “Ember, you’ve written and said some things that Seeker Cassandra and I have a few questions about. We were hoping you would indulge us.”

I nodded slowly. “I’ll answer as best as I can, sure. What’s up?”

Cassandra inhaled audibly. “When we found you, you had no memory of how you got here, of the Conclave, or anything here before it. You didn’t even know what the Chantry or the Circle of Magi were. You said you knew nothing of this  _ world _ . What did you mean? Where are you from?”

“Ah, right,” I nodded again, relieved I could actually answer her question. “I’m from a world… Well, we just call it ‘Earth’, but you might call it ‘Midgard’. I don’t know where it is relative to here, though, sorry.”

“How do you know it is another  _ world _ ?” she demanded. ”You were drawn through the fade. You could have come from elsewhere in  _ this _ world.” 

I smiled slightly. “Well, my whole world has been mapped. The map in the war room doesn’t match any of it.”

“You’re certain of this?” Leliana asked lightly.

I nodded. “The Earth is a sphere. We have the technology to travel to the Moon and back, and we’ve seen the whole surface of the sphere. But also,” I shrugged, “magic is a lot weaker there, and we don’t have elves, or Qunari.”

“How is this possible?” Cassandra asked. Every question was a challenge, as if she was daring me to reply.

“Which?”

“Your being here,” she clarified. “We know there are lands beyond the waters to the north and east, and across the desert to the west. We assumed you were drawn through the fade from one of those lands, perhaps by Andraste herself.”

“For all I know I  _ was _ drawn here through the fade by Andraste, or my gods, or both,” I agreed.

“Your journals say your body is different at home,” Leliana prompted. “Did your journey through the fade transform you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Or maybe I left that body behind and this is a new one? I don’t usually have a body at all in other worlds. I’m more like a spirit. At home my body I’m forty years old, and in constant pain, and… well, I wouldn’t be much use to you in that body, so maybe that’s why?”

“You’ve mentioned your gods before. Does your world not believe in the Maker?” Leliana asked.

I sighed, trying to sort out how to explain Earth's myriad religions  _ succinctly _ . “There’s a lot of different beliefs in my world. More than half the people there do believe in one God, yes.”

“But  _ you _ believe in many gods. Do you believe in the Maker?”

“Um, I believe your world was  _ made _ , yes. Things don’t work the way they should, and other things are too perfect. Your moons are way too big, and the biodiversity is really low, and…” Both women looked very confused. I shook my head. “I don’t think I can explain it. But I don’t know anything about the one who made it.”

Cassandra took a breath to speak, but Leliana interrupted. “You mentioned other worlds than ours and yours.”

“Yeah, there’s nine main worlds connected to the Tree of Worlds, according to the lore of my faith, but I’ve visited more than that.”

“Did the Maker create those worlds as well?” Leliana asked.

“Maybe?” I shrugged helplessly. “I hadn’t thought to ask  _ where _ the other worlds come from when I visit them.That sounds kind of rude, actually,” I muttered, frowning.

“How did you visit them?” Leliana asked again, earning a frustrated glare from Cassandra.

“In visions and dreams, by spirit,” I explained, “like walking in the fade works here.”

Cassandra slammed her goblet of wine on the table in frustration, startling me. “This makes no sense!”

Leliana reached across to place a calming hand on her wrist. “Cassandra, she can only tell us what she believes.”

Cassandra growled low in her throat. “Can you prove  _ any _ of what you say is true, Herald?”

My shoulders dropped in resignation. “Not… really, no. I mean, I can probably pull you into my dreams and  _ show _ you...”

“Is this why the Maker does not answer our prayers?” Cassandra demanded, turning to Leliana. “He’s off creating other worlds? Why have we not heard of this before? Why is her world connected to so many other worlds, and we are what? Trapped here? Abandoned? If we were meant to be held apart, then why is she here now?  _ None of this makes any sense! _ ”

I winced in sympathy. “Assuming I  _ was _ sent here, rather than that this is all some huge accident, I still have no idea  _ who _ sent me, or why they sent  _ me _ .” I threw my hands up, “For that matter, I can’t figure out why they didn’t just talk to somebody who is already here. I don’t know anything about your world! How am I supposed to help?”

Leliana looked down, pulling her hand away from Cassandra’s. She closed her eyes and took a breath, resuming her calm expression. I bit my lip remembering the intensity of her grief the day I found her praying in her tent. _ I shouldn’t have brought that up,  _ I chided myself.

When she finally spoke, Leliana’s voice was a dismayed whisper. “If visitors from beyond usually appear as spirits… Has the Maker been speaking all this time, and we simply failed to listen?”

Cassandra shook her head, “ _ You _ did not fail to listen when the Maker spoke, Leliana. You rose to his call, and became a hero of the blight.”

Leliana looked up again, to meet Cassandra’s encouraging gaze. “We give the mages too little credit, Cassandra. The spirits entreat them nightly in their dreams, and the Templars dismissed them all as demons. How many messages have been lost because the only ones to hear them were trapped in Circles?”

Cassandra frowned. “Andraste was not a mage. You are not a mage. That the Maker chose not to speak to more of us must mean something.”

“Perhaps it does. It is a mage who has been sent to us. It is mages who have the ability to walk the fade consciously, and perhaps even to these other worlds.” Leliana pushed.

“Magic must not rule over us,” Cassandra replied, firmly.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t learn from them!” Leliana cried, surprisingly impassioned.

I watched their interchange with fascinated confusion. “Well,” I offered, “Magic and mages are no more the same thing than blacksmiths are hammers. Maybe it just means that a mage who presides over others must do so using the same moral philosophy and tools that any non-mage could use?”

Leliana’s smile was triumphant. “That is precisely what I have been saying!”

Cassandra snorted. “As if it could be so simple. Those in power will use any advantage to keep that power. Magic only makes it worse. History has proven that.”

“But is it any worse than every other kind of power, really?” I mused. “From what I’ve seen here so far, segregating your mages is what lead to the current problems, and all the non-magical sources of power fell to corruption anyway.”

“True,” Cassandra conceded. “Perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps the Chantry and the Seekers were doomed to fail all along. But if so, what does that mean for us now? How can we succeed where they all failed?”

“It doesn’t matter if the Inquisition is doomed,” Leliana replied, her expression grim. “If we do nothing, all of Thedas is doomed. My vision is as true now as it was during the blight. There is beauty yet in this world, and it  _ must _ be preserved from the encroaching darkness.”

“You have always been so clear in your faith, Leliana,” Cassandra observed with admiration.

“Not always,” Leliana disagreed.

“Skepticism is healthy. It keeps us from going to extremes,” I added, yawning.

“You should rest, Herald,” Cassandra observed. “We have meetings at the first bell tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” I grimaced. “Why do we do that? I hate mornings.”

Cassandra laughed.

Leliana turned to me, as I got up to leave. “We must be very cautious who we allow to have this information. The public must not think the Herald of Andraste is delusional. That she is an outspoken apostate of unknown background is already too much for them.”

“That’s why my journals are in code,” I agreed. “But it’s going to be hard to hide from the people near me.”

“Then we must be cautious who we allow that close,” Cassandra concluded. “Who knows this already?”

“Solas knows the most, but I trust him. Varric was there when I first brought it up. He's planning to write about me. Huh. I should probably talk to him about that." I shook myself, and shrugged. "I’ve been pretty careful with everyone else. I figure they’ll assume I’m from far away in  _ this _ world. Josephine and Cullen don’t know more than that, I don’t think.”

“What about the Iron Bull? A Ben Hassrath is going to notice that it doesn’t add up. Can he be trusted?” Leliana asked.

“Do we have a choice?” Cassandra replied. “We can not leave the Herald without a bodyguard. She can barely defend herself. I can not be with her at all times.”

“I think we have to risk it. I’ll try to be careful how I talk in front of him until we have a better idea if he can be trusted.” I agreed. “Goodnight, ladies,” I waved, yawning again.

Leliana laughed as Cassandra snorted, shooing me out the door.


	8. Openings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m pretty sure I explicitly stated that I did NOT want to deal with time travel on top of all the existing verb tense problems. Unless David Tennant is going to show up with a blue box, I’m not fucking interested in any damned time travel! Argh!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If at any time I fail to remember to thank UncleDark and Cowoline for their editing wisdom, just assume anything I did right was with their help, anyway, please.
> 
> -E-

The whole point of the trip to Val Royeaux was to open doors to the Mages or Templars. It seemed clear that my actions there had opened one door, at least, but the other remained firmly closed.

The Inquisition leaders stood around the War Table arguing about what to do next. Leliana wanted to recruit the mages. Cullen wanted to recruit the templars. Cassandra was worried about both groups, and Josephine was worried about our political standing. But nobody would actually explain their reasoning, so I was almost entirely lost by their wrangling.

Finally, I gave up trying to follow it all, "Guys! We're going in circles. We need to break it down."

"The mages are the clear choice, Herald!" the spymistress insisted. I was inclined to agree, but without understanding all the variables, any conclusion would be hasty.

"I  _ still _ disagree," Commander Cullen insisted, "The Templars could do just as well."

Leliana began her objections anew, but Cullen cut her off, "I was a Templar! I know what they're capable of!"

"Well,  _ I don't _ !" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up, drawing startled looks from both. "And since I appear to be your tie-breaker right now, I need to understand our options. Please, each of you explain your reasoning to me,  _ one at a time _ . Commander, if we had sufficient Templars, how would that work. What would the plan be?"

"Templars negate magic. They could work together to create a net of annulment to suppress the breach, to bring it down to a level you, Solas, and First Enchanter Vivienne can close. I believe that is a safer method than pouring more raw power into the breach. We've already seen it explode once. We don't know what the threshold is for it to explode again."

"Okay, that makes sense. But are you sure they can create a large enough net to affect the breach? Pouring energy into it doesn't require that we be able to encompass it. Does negation?"

"Not necessarily, no. It depends on whether the breach has a center of power, or if it's a vortex."

" _ A cortex wraps around a core, alas, there isn't any 'vore _ '" I recited, nodding in understanding. "Alright, so provided the breach has a central locus of power, and provided we can recruit enough Templars to form a suppression net large enough to encompass that core, it does sound like the Templars are probably a safer choice."

"Exactly my point, Herald."

"Fair enough. Sister, what do you have in mind?"

"The rebels in Redcliffe are desperate for allies, and their leaders are highly competent mages. Grand Enchanter Fiona alone has as much or more unique magical experience as any of our current mages, with the possible exception of Solas. They can not afford to turn us down, and they can definitely provide more than enough power to overcome the breach. Moreover, between them and our existing resources, we should have more than enough magical knowledge to approach the effort with due caution."

"That makes sense. Seeker, your thoughts?"

"I am concerned for the Templars. Lord Seeker Lucius is behaving very strangely, and I fear his leadership will place the remaining Templars in danger. I want to attempt to contact the Templars whether we seek their assistance with the breach or not. We need to understand what is happening with them, and if necessary, rescue those who disagree with the Lord Seeker’s new direction."

"Fair enough. I believe if we can recruit both Mages and Templars, we absolutely should. Ambassador?"

"You have an invitation from former Grand Enchanter Fiona. You should act on it immediately. Perhaps the threat of us allying with the mages will draw the Templars back out where we can engage them. As things currently stand, we do not have the influence necessary to compel them to speak with us at all. If our goal is to ally with the Order, there is a great deal left to be done, and I am not certain we can afford the time it will take. If, however, our goal is to recruit those who wish to  _ leave _ the order as it currently stands, perhaps Sister Nightingale's agents would be better suited to address the problem?"

"We do have some former Templars in our ranks, though none are my agents. If the Commander would choose two or three he trusts, my agents could work with them to infiltrate what remains of the Order to draw out dissenters," Leliana agreed.

"It sounds like we have a plan, then, yeah? The Right Hand can take up the invitation to Redcliffe while the Left Hand takes a more subtle approach with the Templars. Whoever we can get to help us, we'll sort out a plan that incorporates all of our strengths at that time. Will that work?"

"Yes, I believe that could work," Commander Cullen agreed.

"I agree, provided you are with me, Herald," Seeker Cassandra insisted.

"Of course," I nodded, "We can leave tomorrow."

\-----

"How did you do that, Herald?" Cassandra asked me as we walked away from the War Room, "They've been arguing for weeks. I tried to make them stop arguing and make a decision repeatedly, but they wouldn’t listen to me. "

I shrugged. "I think it helped that I really did need them to slow down and explain. They couldn’t assume I already knew, right? So they couldn't take offense to my request for clarity. My uncle used to be the mayor of his town. When I was first getting into community leadership stuff, I asked his advice. He told me it’s not knowing the most, or being the strongest, but getting people working together. Nobody knows everything, but enough people working together can do anything.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

I sighed, "He died some time ago, but I still hear from him once in a while in my dreams. At least I did before coming here. I could have really used his help this afternoon!"

Cassandra wrinkled her nose. "You sound like a Mortalitasi," she observed.

"’ _ Mortalitasi’ _ ? Something death related, right?"

"Death mages. In my homeland, Nevarra, the dead are not burnt or buried. They are embalmed and given to trusted spirits, so that the knowledge of the dead is never lost, and the living need not go to war. Many of my countrymen pay more attention to the dead than they do their living families. My uncle is the overseer of the Grand Necropolis. I have never understood his obsession with death. It seems morbid to me."

"That's got to be the strangest form of Ancestor Reverence I've ever heard of, Seeker."

"And yet, you speak of your own dead similarly, as if they are still with you."

"Well, yes, and no. Not like that, anyway. In my tradition the Ancestors are accessible to us in spirit, but their bodies pass on just like anything else in nature. Magic is not strong enough there to do what you described. If I understand how spirits work around here, the spirits of the dead pass beyond accessibility. So what your uncle does is the exact  _ opposite _ of what we do at home. He's preserving the  _ body _ , but losing access to the original soul." I realized what I was saying and turned to Cassandra, eyes wide. "I mean, it sounds like it works for them. I'm not judging or anything!"

She snorted in amusement, "Well  _ I _ am! My uncle all but ignored me and my brother growing up, in favor of his precious dead, when he was supposed to be raising us!"

"Well, yes, that's a whole other thing. He sounds like a workaholic. My dad was like that sometimes," I sympathized.

"’ _ Workaholic’ _ ?"

"Addicted to work. I spent a lot of time wandering around my Dad's offices as a kid, pretending I was exploring ancient ruins or whatever. Sometimes my older sister would make up games for me, hiding clues for me to follow."

"I pestered my older brother to play dragon slayer with me when we were children," Cassandra grinned. "We are descended from a long line of dragon slayers."

"Wow! My family is just full of healers, engineers, and weirdos. Of course, dragons aren't a physical thing in my world."

"They almost weren't here either. My ancestors hunted them almost to extinction," she replied. “Their return is why this is called the ‘Dragon Age’.”

I grinned. “That, and ‘The Nug Age’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Cassandra snorted.

\-----

I’m pretty sure I explicitly stated that I did NOT want to deal with time travel on top of all the existing verb tense problems. Unless David Tennant is going to show up with a blue box, I’m not fucking interested in any damned time travel! Argh!

Right, so today we arrived in Redcliffe to speak with Former Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the Mage Rebellion (people do so love their titles, here in Thedas), to see if we could arrange an alliance of some kind.

When we arrived, Redcliffe’s gates were barred, because there was a rift outside spitting demons. No problem, right? Nothing we haven’t dealt with dozens of times before already.

Well, not quite. Because this particular rift was also spitting out pockets of time warp. But not the fun kind. Jumping to the left and stepping to the right involved sudden speed changes, if it happened to cross the wrong line. Disorienting as fuck, that. I still have a migraine, and I don’t get fucking migraines, dammit!

Sorry, I swear a lot when I’m in pain.

Anyway, we got the rift closed and the gates open. The atmosphere in Redcliffe was, well, how to put this... militarized? Strained, certainly. They’d kicked out most of the non-Mages, including the freakin’ Arl himself (that can’t have been a smart move). We found the Gull and Lantern tavern, and met with Fiona, only to discover that she had no memory of going to Val Royeaux and inviting us to Redcliffe.

She had, instead, panicked and sworn all the rebel mages in her care into ten years of indentured servitude to the Tevinter Empire, so they could all become citizens. The general sentiment among my companions was that this was the _ worst possible thing  _ she could have done. But it was also just a really strange one, both being out of character for Fiona, according to the other mages in town, and being somehow a retcon of reality.

Magister Alexius arrived to discuss it with us. He seemed a little off, but no worse than average for a politician. I gather “Magister” means something like “Hereditary Senator Mage”. His son seemed a bit more sincere. He slipped us a note in the process of collapsing ill in front of his father. I presume it was feigned, but it must have had a real illness for context, because his father responded instantly, with extreme concern and no trace of suspicion.

The note said we were in danger, and told us to meet him in the Chantry up the road. We agreed that it might be a trap, but if so, springing it would be the easiest way to find out what the hell was going on.

It wasn’t a trap. It was a fade rift. Well, no, it was a very competent mage fighting demons that happened to be coming out of a fade rift. We got that sorted, and then we met Dorian Pavus. The Iron Bull, at least, seemed pleased to meet him, and unless my gaydar needs recalibration for Thedas, I’d say he’s got a decent chance.

To be fair, Dorian was pretty attractive. Olive skin, shiny black hair, a carefully crafted mustache, and clothing so impractical it could only be called stylish. And yet he still moved through his spellwork like it was choreographed by Bob Fosse:  _ Slide, spin, sweep..STRIKE _ ! A series of rapid-fire poses, each photo-worthy in its own right. This guy was either terrifyingly talented, or had  _ way _ too much time on his hands.

After talking to him for a while about the time magic the Magister had used to get to Fiona before we could, I had to conclude that it was both. He was, he explained, an  _ Altus _ \- an upper-class Tevinter mage, eligible to become a Magister and, indeed, likely to inherit just such a position from his father. He had previously been Magister Alexius’ apprentice, and had helped develop the time-distorting magic we had seen near the rift.

He and the Magister’s son, Felix, wanted to stop their former-mentor from whatever bizarre crap he’d gotten sucked into. This involved a cult of Tevinter-supremacist mages called the  _ Venatori _ . Apparently they venerate some “Elder One”,  _ (if anyone invokes Cthulhu, I’m out of here!)  _ and through whoever that is, are aiming to restore the Tevinter Empire to its former Thedas-dominating glory. Because having a strict caste system that keeps all non-mages practically enslaved—and all elves  _ actually  _ enslaved—so the  _ Altus _ can live lives of leisure and fashion while collecting all the magical and political power they can get their bloody hands on just isn’t  _ glorious _ enough.

_ Great _ .

So Dorian wants our help extracting Magister Alexius from  _ Venatori _ influence, and stopping whatever dastardly scheme he has planned. Which we would be doing anyway, since said scheme is apparently pointed straight at me. They want the mark on my hand, because  _ of course _ they do.

So I guess it’s actually that he wants to help us? Who am I to complain, he’s obviously competent, and we still need all the help we can get. This is going to take more than we thought, so we’re back in Haven to re-evaluate our options and sort out a plan.   
\-----

Of course, the process of sorting out a plan involved talking Cullen back down from his insistence that we go get the Templars instead. Redcliffe castle is apparently one of the most formidable fortresses in Southern Thedas. We definitely couldn’t take it by force, and it was obvious that the invitation for me to go in alone was a trap. Whether Magister Alexius wanted me dead, or just under his control, we didn’t know, but neither was a good plan.

Cassandra pointed out that we could not afford to leave a hostile force occupying Redcliffe. Josephine was concerned that any army we could muster would seem like an Orlesian invasion, and start a war with Ferelden. Cullen considered the whole thing ridiculously impossible.

“If you go in there alone, you’ll die, and we'll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won't allow it,” the Commander asserted.

Cassandra objected. “The Magister—”

“ _ Has outplayed us. _ ” Cullen cut her off, sternly. Everyone fell silent.

Maybe I’m naive, but every movie I’ve ever seen about scrappy protagonists trying to overcome a superior force occupying a secure location has involved infiltration.

“Well, is there a way to sneak inside? Like…”  _ no, not air ducts, _ “Waterways? Can we sneak up from the lake on a foggy night or something?”

“Wait!” Leliana spoke up, “There  _ is _ a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for family. We used it to get to Connor during the blight. It's too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky,” Cullen objected. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That's why we need a distraction,” she insisted. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

“Keep attention on the Herald while we disable the Magister's defenses,” Cullen mused, “It's a gamble, but it might work.”

Suddenly the door swung open, and Dorian came striding in. “Fortunately, you'll have help!”

I jumped as Cassandra and Cullen both reached for their blades, but I held up a hand when I recognised who it was.

“It’s okay,” I explained. “This is Dorian Pavus, the Tevinter  _ Altus _ who warned us in Redcliffe. Don’t they knock in Tevinter?” I demanded, turning to glare at our fabulous intruder.

He just smirked and waved a hand dismissively. “Your spies will never get past Alexius' magic without my help. So if you're going after him, I'm coming along.”

I shrugged and nodded. The others looked confused, as a scout explained apologetically to the Commander that Dorian claimed to have useful information for us. I introduced the others to Dorian, doing my best to remember their formal titles.

“The plan puts you in the most danger, Herald. We can't, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you'd rather not play the bait. It's up to you.”

“I think I can handle being bait. I just need to keep him distracted, and get in his way, yes? I’m good at that. I’m not going in alone, though. I’ll take the Iron Bull and a couple others with me. If they want me there that badly, they’ll just have to allow it.”

\-----

In the end, I took the Iron Bull and Sera with me. Dorian went with Leliana’s agents.

And yes, of course it was a trap. They didn’t want to let my guards in with me, but I insisted. I also insisted on including Enchanter Fiona in the conversation, even though he tried to dismiss her as irrelevant. She was clearly shocked at how his attitude towards her and the other rebel mages had turned from sympathetic to callous.

I kept Magister Alexius talking with endless questions about technicalities and Tevinter customs until Dorian showed up to confront him. Alexius made it pretty clear that his allegiance to the  _ Venatori _ and their Elder One was in return for a promise that his son, Felix, would be restored from an inevitably-fatal illness. Felix, for his part, seemed at peace with his fate. When Felix joined in the pile-on, for a moment, I thought we had it all sorted.

But no, that would be too easy. Remember the timey weirdness? Yeah.

In his desperation to save his son or meet his obligation to his future god, Alexius opened a rift, not to the fade, but in time. And he shoved me and Dorian through it.

\-----


	9. Timey-Wimey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember and Dorian are out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient, so you get another chapter! -E-
> 
> P.S. Dang, I figured out a much wittier chapter summary belatedly. Ahh well, there it is now! LOL

Dorian and I came to in a calf-deep puddle of water in what looked like an old, broken jail. There were growths of red lyrium crystals all over. The whole place thrummed, as if we were in a storm, and my ears were ringing painfully. I spun around and dropped to my knees in the water, which was not at all helpful. I managed not to need to drop down onto my hands, which would have gotten my whole body soaked, but I sat there nauseated and dizzy, trying not to throw up or fall down.

Dorian concluded that Alexius had possibly sent us forward in time, as well as down into the dungeons beneath Redcliffe Castle, but he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He helped me to my feet, and suggested I cool myself with ice magic to help with the nausea. Once I was a little more settled, we explored the dungeons as thoroughly as we could.

We found the Iron Bull, Sera, and Fiona each imprisoned in separate cells, all infected with red lyrium. Each expressed doubt that I was real, and amazement that I was alive.

When we opened her cell, we found Fiona imprisoned by more than bars. Her arms and legs were pinned to the stone with thin shafts of crystal; at first I'd thought she'd been nailed to the wall and floor by her jailers, but the truth was far worse. She was quite literally  _ petrified _ from the middle of her chest down. Red lyrium was growing into the stone from  _ within _ her body, a system of parasitic tentacles chaining her down more cruelly than any steel. How she was still alive was a mystery I couldn’t allow myself to contemplate too closely.

Her lungs audibly strained when she realized who we were, her voice so strangled I was surprised she could speak at all; she was  _ just _ able to tell us a year had gone by. Dorian and I just blinked at each other for a moment. A year? A  _ whole _ year?  _ Only _ a year? I couldn’t decide if that seemed like far too much for our absence, or far too little for the devastation we saw.

The Iron Bull was singing repetitive drinking songs like a mantra. He kept losing track of what number he was on, swearing in several languages, and starting over at another, random number. He sat stock still on the floor, legs folded, eye closed as we approached. The lyrium had long since fused his eye-patch to his skull, but a red glow soaked through the patch from where his right eye should have been. Still, he seemed calm. Far calmer than he should have been. As Dorian unlocked the door with a wave of his hand, Bull just stood up, confirmed that I was real and still on his side, and walked out the door to find Sera.

Sera was disoriented and frightened, which was only fair. I was surprised she hadn’t gone entirely numb after spending a year besieged by demon-possessed mages. She crawled to the far corner of her cell as we entered, frantic to put any space between us that she could, humming anxiously. She shrieked with alarm as Bull smashed the lock, but he just walked up to her, picked her up gently, and grumbled quietly to her that  _ it was time _ . I did my best to swallow my own dismay, and reassure her that I was both real and unharmed.

Bull and Sera just wanted to hit things, really, which was so normal for them it was a relief to hear. So we brought them with us, keeping our eyes out for suitable weapons for our friends to wield. Keeping Sera from wandering off or suddenly disappearing proved more work than it was worth, and I eventually gave up entirely. I recognized with disturbing detachment that she was already hopelessly lost to the red lyrium. That she was on my side at all anymore would have to be enough.

\-----

We emerged from the dungeons into the courtyard to find the sky all but swallowed whole by the breach. Everything was bathed in that same sickly green light, and stones were floating in the air. Strangely, the wind wasn’t whipping around anywhere near as fast as I expected from the deep, incessant thrumming I’d heard inside. Instead it was eerily quiet, the only sound the intermittent crackle of the veil tearing around us, stirred up by the presence of the mark on my hand.

We fought our way through Venatori agents and past smaller rifts spitting out demons. The Magister had locked himself behind a door that didn’t so much have keyholes as slots for crystals, so we went hunting for those, and in the process found Leliana.

Something truly horrible had happened to her. She looked like she had aged several decades in the year we’d been absent. Her skin was a mass of scar tissue, as if they’d submerged her in flames and salted the burns. They had clearly tortured her, but notes we found indicated they had also experimented on her. Something to do with resistance to the blight. Perhaps they were searching for a way to save Felix? Whatever they’d done, she was understandably unwilling to talk about it. I’m still not sure if I’m frustrated or grateful for that, since what little I could discern already had me more nauseous than the time rift itself.

All we really learned was that Alexius had apparently failed the Elder One in his efforts and had grown desperate, but that hadn’t stopped the Elder One from invading Orlais with an army of demons and assassinating Empress Celene. It wasn’t enough detail to really help - you’d think Leliana of all people would understand the value of  _ information _ .

On the one hand, we would never have made it out of there at all if it weren’t for her sacrifices. On the other hand, we might have had a lot more time, and less need for her sacrificing  _ herself  _ if she hadn’t opted to sacrifice  _ Felix  _ to her sense of vengeance. We had Alexius resigned to his failure, and might have had a good deal more time to safely sort out how to use the amulet he and Dorian had crafted to get us back if she hadn’t provoked him into fighting us, dammit!

In a last ditch effort to satisfy his master’s demands, Alexius opened several small rifts to delay us. None of the demons he was able to summon were particularly difficult to kill, which only reinforced what a complete waste of precious time it was taking. We eventually had him back on his knees, resigned to his fate. With his death, Dorian was able to find the amulet he’d used to send us to the future.

With the Elder One’s forces immanent, Sera and the Iron Bull headed outside in a desperate attempt to slow them down, and Leliana stayed just inside the door as our last resort.

“You have as much time as I have arrows!” she promised us, showing every intention of sacrificing herself if it meant that we would be able to reverse our fate entirely; this from the same woman who refused to tell us what exactly had happened, because it wouldn’t be real enough to us. No, it’s  _ not _ real. We don’t want it to  _ become  _ real. _ Tell us what we’re preventing so we can figure out how, gods dammit! _

Dorian had to physically restrain me from trying to go help her when she took the first arrow to her shoulder. My hands itched to heal her, even as the anchor in my hand crackled painfully in response whatever was happening to the fade outside.

“Dorian, she’ll die!” I screamed.

“If you leave now, Inquisitor,  _ everyone _ dies!” he shouted back over the rising din.

Right. Re-setting time mattered a hell of a lot more than trying to fix any one bit of this fucked up future.  _ I knew that _ . But fuck, the Iron Bull and Sera must already have been dead, Leliana was our last line of defense, and  _ I couldn’t do anything _ but hold up a fragile barrier around us and hope Dorian could work out Alexius’ magic, while watching Leliana get hit with arrow after arrow, blade after blade, spell after spell.

She fought like a berserker, a wild creature summoned from the future to protect the past. She understood better than anyone that our only chance was in Dorian’s hands, and she had nothing left to lose.

By the time Dorian got the time rift working, tears were streaming down my face unchecked, and I don’t think it was just the lyrium that flooded my vision with red. Dorian had to pull me through, his weight a counterbalance to mine as we tumbled back in time.

We emerged exactly where we’d departed, at most a few minutes after we’d left, our leathers torn, dirt and blood and lyrium dust coating our skins, barely-dried tears streaking our cheeks. I stumbled, the relief of having the nausea and that incessant thrumming sound cease, and the shock of realizing it was over hitting me like a wave.

The Magister collapsed in defeat as I recovered my composure. Nobody else knew what had happened, but it was undeniable from our appearance that it hadn’t been simple. Before they could bombard us with questions, I held up my hand for silence, and then gestured to the Iron Bull to take Alexius into custody. No sooner had Bull snapped the magic-suppression shackles Cullen had the foresight to send with Leliana’s agents, than two lines of Ferelden soldiers came marching into the throne room, followed by King Alistair and Queen Anora. They all but ignored me and the other Inquisition agents in favor of ordering Fiona and the other mages out of Redcliffe.

There was no time to explain the trickery involved in the situation, so I simply offered Fiona and her charges a place in the Inquisition, as allies in service to the cause of fixing the world. What better way to prove their benevolence, right?

King Alistair admonished them to take our offer, saying that I was being more than generous to invite them as equals when anyone else would be imprisoning them as criminals.

Needless to say, Fiona accepted.

Dorian agreed to return to Haven with my party. We needed to inform the council that we were successful in recruiting the Mages and be sure we were prepared to house them. I wasn’t sure just how many were left under Fiona’s leadership, but I’d counted at least a few dozen around Redcliffe before we met with Magister Alexius. We regrouped at the crossroads first, though. At least Dorian and I needed food, healing, and rest.

Strangely, Solas was there, ready to help heal any agents who might need it. He found me sitting at the table with my head in my hands, too exhausted to move, much less eat. He expressed sardonic amusement that I had somehow contrived to be one of only two people injured out of all those who had gone to Redcliffe. Dorian was already napping. I didn’t have the energy to explain how we’d managed it just yet, but promised him I’d tell everyone the whole story back in Haven.

When we returned to Haven, I was startled to discover that Cullen, Cassandra, and First Enchanter Vivienne had expected me to take the mages into our  _ custody _ . That wasn’t what we’d discussed, nor had it occurred to me as an option. Why would anyone help us if we treat them like prisoners? But apparently that was just their default assumption, that having mages around meant having mages under our thumbs.

I know my home world isn’t truly egalitarian by any stretch, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to just how hierarchical Thedas is. It’s like equality just never crosses anyone’s mind.

\-----

It took a couple of weeks for all of the Rebel mages to arrive from Redcliffe and surrounding areas. Many of the first to arrive, including Fiona, made efforts to send word to rebel mages from outside Redcliffe who might be suitable to join the cause. Some even brought along sympathetic Templars, much to our surprise. Leliana says they probably have mage relatives, or lovers.

She was also able to draw a few - very few - Templars away from Lord Seeker Lucius. Alas, nobody of significant rank and skill. Basically, nobody they’d really miss. But still, any Templars who are more willing to work with non-violent rebel mages than they are with violent Knight-Commanders are a boon to us.

They’ve told us that Ser Delrin Barris is still a reasonable man who is unofficially leading a small group of loyal Templars hoping the situation in Therinfal Redoubt can be turned around, but that just about all the officers have grown paranoid and short tempered under Lord Seeker Lucius’ influence. It seems we have all the Templars we are likely to have helping us seal the Breach.

We gathered the best of the Mages and the most senior of the Templars into the war room with the council to discuss the best strategy for closing the Breach. Our plan is to have the Templars stand in the inner circle to build their web of suppression focused on the core of the main rift, to prevent any demons from coming through and hopefully suppress any explosive effects of manipulating the rift. I will stand just outside their circle and the mages will stand in an outer ring, all drawing and focus their energy  _ through _ me, which should amplify the mark sufficiently to seal the main rift and thus hopefully the Breach once and for all. Cullen, Cassandra, and Solas will monitor their efforts and call for adjustments as the effects are observed.

The actual contingent is much smaller than I’d expected. Only a half-dozen Templars and mages each, not counting those who came to the Inquisition independently. Adding Cullen and Cassandra to the Templar’s efforts, and Dorian, Vivienne and Solas to the mage side gives us less than twenty people, total.

We can’t be sure it will work the same way on the main rift, given its ties to the breach, but I’ve asked for a practice run on a regular rift, just to make sure that I don’t falter under the unusual conditions. There’s a particularly stubborn one over a waterfall near Master Dennet’s farms that I could use the help with. Josephine agreed on the grounds that showing the lot of us working together might make the folks of Redcliffe a little happier with our having taken in the rebel mages. Cullen likes to be especially careful, so he agreed as well. Cassandra didn’t like the idea of putting off closing the Breach any longer than necessary, and Leliana was worried such a public display of our plan might open us to sabotage somehow, but the general consensus was that it was worth the risk to ensure success.

\----

The stubborn rift near the waterfall was right where I’d remembered. Closing it with the extra help was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was incredibly easy to manipulate, and the presence of the Templars kept the demons to a minimum. On the other hand, the extra power channeled into the mark made using it  _ incredibly  _ painful. 

Thankfully, I should have more than enough time travelling between Redcliffe and the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes for my arm to recover.

I’m not looking forward to going through an even higher-powered version of the effort, but I can handle quite a lot of pain if I know how long it will last.

It’s a redhead thing, I‘m told.

I’m not sure I want to know what that implies about the Iron Bull’s tastes.

\-----


	10. Inner Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing the rift is the easy part.
> 
> Dealing with the Red Templars' envy, not so much.

We set up camp in the keep in the mountain pass just outside the Temple ruins. The plan is to rest tonight and close the rift first thing in the morning. I’ve been instructed to rest entirely, along with all the mages. The Templars, Commander, and Seeker are dividing the watch between them, to maximize everyone’s rest.

Solas asked me to meet with him in the fade as soon as possible, to evaluate the grounds. I made sure Cassandra and Cullen knew our plan. Cullen seemed concerned, but Cassandra approved, and assured him that both Solas and I have walked the fade near rifts countless times now, and even in this area before. Granted, I was in shackles last time, but that turned out okay, right? Cullen had us set up our tents between his and Cassandra’s just in case.

\-----

At Cassandra’s insistence, nobody is bothering me at breakfast while I write. I appreciate the calm. I know everyone is excited, but I need to stay focused today. I’m not even assigned to be a healer if we encounter demons down in the Temple ruins, they’re that set on keeping me focused. Not that they can _stop_ me from healing if it’s an emergency, mind you.

We shouldn’t encounter demons outside the fade, though. Solas and I checked the area last night. There were plenty of spirits and demons clustered around the rift zone on the fade side, but nothing slipping through. It was still sealed from my previous attempt. The area was still filled with red lyrium on the physical side, though, unfortunately.

We went through and found spirits inclined towards some kind of leadership or cooperation, and warned them that the area should be evacuated. We know that many of the demons will be impossible to persuade or command to leave, but the more spirits we can shoo away from the rift before we manipulate it tomorrow, the safer it will be for everyone involved, including the spirits themselves.

I have to say, the fade in this area is creepy as hell, though - literally. Most of the crew were having nightmares. Granted, this is a very stressful event, but that means I was expecting anxiety dreams anticipating the day to come. Instead, everyone was having nightmares about traumatic events from their personal pasts.

There wasn’t much we could do to soothe them without intruding, so the best I could do was wander the nearby fade singing calming songs and hope that it would break through to some of them.

“ _When the mountain touches the valley all the clouds are taught to fly_  
_As our souls will grace this land so peacefully_  
_Though our minds be filled with questions, in our hearts we understand_  
_When the river meets the sea_

_Patience my sister and patience my son  
In that sweet and final hour, truth and justice will be done _

_Like a baby when it is sleeping in its loving mother’s arms_  
_What a newborn baby dreams is a mystery_  
_But her life will find a purpose and in time she’ll understand_  
_When the river meets the sea_ ”

Several people are humming the songs I sang this morning, so I guess it worked a little?

\-----

Right, because there’s never enough weird shit.

So first of all, we succeeded in closing the breach. It worked almost exactly the way we planned, unfortunately including hurting at least as much as I thought it would. Only a few, very stubborn demons of Terror and Despair came through. Nothing we couldn’t handle easily.

Honestly, the whole thing was downright anticlimactic, it went so well.

 _“Where’s the kaboom?”_ I couldn’t help thinking to myself, in a nasal cartoon voice, “ _I was expecting an earth-shattering kaboom…”_

And then, of course, _“No boom today. Boom tomorrow. Always boom tomorrow.”_

But nobody would have recognized the sci-fi references, and I didn’t think I could explain Babylon 5, much less Marvin the Martian, so I just shook my head and let it go.

Cullen, Fiona, and Vivienne led the bulk of the mages and Templars back to Haven immediately leaving me, Solas, Dorian, Cassandra, and a couple of Templars behind to make one last sweep of the area.

In retrospect, that was a mistake.

On our way back down to Haven from the Temple, we encountered a group of unfamiliar Templars, mostly officers. It was Ser Barris who greeted us, however. He seemed eager to see us, and explained that he’d succeeded in convincing the Lord Seeker that our cause was just, and they’d been coming to help us up with the breach, only to watch it close as they climbed the path. Ser Barris seemed entirely sincere, and the Templars with us seemed relieved. Their officers and my companions were more guarded, however.

Then Lord Seeker Lucius approached us from the back of the group, _smiling_ . He praised us for taking the Mages into hand, and said our closure of the breach without Templar help was impressive. Well, no, he was impressed with _me._ He praised _me._ He smiled at _me_ . He addressed _me_. He didn’t even look at Cassandra, his fellow Seeker, much less my other companions.

 _Still,_ I thought, exhausted, my arm still aching, _even a duplicitous and creepy, yet peaceful Lord Seeker is better than a_ violent _one, right?_ So when he offered his hand to shake in congratulations, I automatically reached out my own hand in response.

“ _Herald_ ,” Cassandra hissed, alarmed, but it was too late. A split-second later, the Lord Seeker’s hand touched mine, and I realized with mild shock that both our hands were bare. I’d have thought nothing of it at home. Here, though, everyone wore gloves most of the time, especially up here in the freezing mountains. Mine were only off to make using the mark on the Breach smoother. _Why were his?_

No sooner had I noticed how warm and - ugh - _sweaty_ his hand seemed, than I was falling forward into a swirling purple void.

It wasn’t any part of the fade I’d seen before. It was dark and distorted. I could hear Anselm howling in the distance somewhere. Well, I could hear a wolf, anyway. Somewhat louder, there was a purring sound. So my allies were near, but not close enough to walk with me directly. Still, I had my Redwood staff, Stag armor, and Lion cloak. I wasn’t entirely without protection, right?

Walls were warped. People looked cast in photo negative, and lights reflected wrong. It was dark and foggy. The walls looked like stone coated in tar. Blessedly they didn’t smell like anything, but the overall effect was deeply disturbing.

Seeker Lucius, or rather, the creature possessing him, began speaking to me as if he was all around me. Was I inside his mind? Was he in mine?

“Everything tells me about you. So will this. _Watch._ ”

Cullen and Josephine were standing in the clearing ahead of me. Leliana stepped out from behind a pillar with a knife in her hand. She wrapped her arms around Cullen, putting the knife to his throat. He didn’t move a muscle.

“Is this shape useful?” Leliana asked. The voice was hers, but the tone of voice was the Demon’s. “Will it let me know you?”

“Why do you want to know me?” I asked, warily.

 _“Why do you want to know me?”_ a distorted copy of my own voice returned through Leliana’s lips, mockingly.

_Ahhh. A Cuckoo._

She drew the knife across Cullen’s throat, and then disappeared into the shadows as Cullen fell away,

I frowned, my heart lurching in my chest. I was well aware it was just an illusion, a play to get a reaction out of me, but it took effort not to react.

Josephine’s double began to move. Her voice, too, was distorted by the demon’s inflections, an imperfect copy. “Being you will be _so_ much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker. Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You'll see. When I'm done the Elder One will kill you and Ascend. Then I will BE you.”

I looked around, listening to the demon, refusing to speak or emote. It was a familiar resistance. I used to do the same as a kid cornered by bullies, or authority figures. I can’t always hit back or even defend myself, but Stubborn Resting Bitch Face I can do.

I moved through more high-vaulted tarred-stone rooms overgrown with dark roots. _Who chose this decor, seriously?_

Another copy of Cullen came walking around the bend to growl at me. “I am not your toy. I am Envy. And I _will_ know you!”

He leaned in, eyes blazing green, chanting at me with _intent_.

“Tell me, Herald, in your mind.

Tell me what you _think._

Tell me what you _feel._

Tell me what you _see._ ”

But those were not the right words. Envy had neither the true need, nor the proper tools to compel truth from my lips, so I said nothing and kept walking, anger held stiff against my spine.

The next room was familiar. The dungeon where I’d first awoken in Haven. Cassandra stood over a shadow of me, asking why she shouldn’t just kill me. Envy had found an actual memory. I wondered, silently, what Envy could glean from the scene.

I kept walking. The next scene wasn’t familiar at all. An Inquisition scout and soldier were speaking with a shadow version of me. But not Adele, just a moving statue of me rendered in obsidian, eyes glowing green like miniature rifts. _So, more like Shadow Link, really._

The Scout and Soldier were praising Shadow-me for being generally intimidating and invincible, and Shadow-me was declaring ambition to conquer yet more of Thedas. Wow, _so_ not me. I almost laughed at how ridiculously off-base it was.

_But nobody in Thedas knows me well enough to know why not._

It wasn’t going to be enough to refuse this demon access. If Envy could find a way to replace me, nobody would know how far off the copy really was as long as it was careful to change slowly or find plausible excuses. I held my breath for a moment, willing my anger and nauseating dismay to subside.

I couldn’t let that happen.

If what it intended to become in my image was so _wrong_ , maybe knowing me would be an improvement? What did it Envy about me?

“Why are you not enough as you are?” I asked, trying to understand what makes an Envy demon what it is. It was hard to uphold compassion for it, but I had to consider the option - could Envy be restored to something less twisted? What is Envy uplifted, exactly? Admiration? Awe?

“Curious, trying to find my weakness. Is that what you are?” It cackled. “Do you see how glorious my Inquisition will be after you die at the hands of the Elder One?”

Another, calmer, kinder voice spoke up, suddenly. “You're hurting, helpless, hasty. _What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?_ ”

Envy hissed. “What are you? Get out! This is MY PLACE!”

I continued wandering, mostly aimlessly, equal parts confused, worried, and determined. The rooms shifted and changed, but the features stayed basically the same. Stone walls, tangled roots, vaulted roofs, never open sky. Sometimes there was furniture. Sometimes people I knew. Sometimes people I didn’t know in familiar patterns.

But nothing from my own world. If Envy was trying to know me, it just wasn’t very good at it. Then I realized, _it hadn’t showed me anything Lord Seeker Lucius wouldn’t have recognized too_.

My eyes widened before I school my features again. Was it stuck in its previous form until it could take mine? _How could I use this to my advantage?_

I found an alcove with a hearth and tables covered in simple foods. It felt warmer and safer than anything else in the vision so far.

A young man was standing in the corner wearing patched clothing and a huge hat. That kind voice spoke again. “Envy is hurting you. _Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake._ I want to help.”

I tilted my head, trying to find the face beneath the brim of the hat. I found his eyes and raised my eyebrows.

“You,” he clarified, “Not Envy.”

I smiled, “I got that. You look familiar.”

“I've been watching. I'm Cole. We're inside you. Or I am. You're always inside you.”

 _Aha!_ “We’re inside me? So it’s a matter of regaining control, rather than getting out?”

“It's easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you're hearing. But I'm here, hearing, helping, I hope. Envy hurt you, is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It's... it's not usually like this.”

“No, you’re not usually inside my head,” I replied, amusement providing relief from the tension of passive resistance. “I’d have noticed that.”

“If it bothers you, I can make you forget. That helps. No, you need all of you to fight. Maybe later.”

“You’re not bothering me,” I assured him, my calm restored.

“Envy is. You’re frozen.”

“I’m frozen? How so?”

“Thoughts are fast.”

“Right, okay. So, slow, but not stopped.” I frowned. This shouldn’t be so hard. It’s _my_ mind, dammit, I’m in charge here! “How do I get Envy out of my head?”

“All of this is Envy: People, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out.”

“So if I show it too many things to be, it’ll stretch itself too thin?”

“Maybe? I hope it helps. Ideas are loud here. Make them louder.”

“ _That_ I can do,” I grinned.

So I thought of _home_ . You want to understand me? Understand _Muppets_ . Give me _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Babylon 5_ and _My Little Pony_ . Meet the Vanir. Host an 18-acre egg hunt, an all-day ritual, a weekend-long LARP. Run a convention for a few thousand of my closest friends. _Throw me a bembe, baby_!

I closed my eyes, visualizing the ritual dance floor filled with my former Umbanda House siblings. I started singing the spirit lineup song, rattling off names of divine spirits from my home world with each line.

_“Milokan Milokan, all the saints are comin’ down...”_

Envy wants power? Let it try to be _all_ the Powers!

The demon howled. “That thing can't help you! I _will_ see more!” I lost my place as I felt the images falter, the white clothing of Umbandistas replaced with Inquisition uniforms, their bodies twisting in pain. Envy snarled again. “See the legacy of the Inquisition. It's followers hosts to Demons. Your world ashes. Show me what you'd do with them.”

 _Not my world._ I resumed the song defiantly, and reinforced the image of the ritual at home. Not dripping ichor black, but soft, fluttering white. Not flickering green rift flames, but draped sashes and strings of beads, red, purple, blue, gold. Not soldiers and scouts, but mediums and warders. Not stone walls and iron bars, but cloth tents and tables filled with colorful altars and delicious offerings. I visualized in as much detail as I could muster, remembering each attribute, each name, each house member, each spirit, name, and aspect, drowning Envy in memories of unfamiliar _Ashe_.

Cole looked to me, holding my gaze, “You're making it hard for Envy to think.”

“Unfair, unfair!” the demon wailed. “That thing keeps you whole! Keeps you from giving me your shape! We'll start again, more pain this time, the Elder One still comes!”

Cole smiled, “It's frightened of you.”

I raised my arms in triumph and sang the song of Closing. “ _Elegua nita laroye so kuo! Elegua nita laroye so kuo aye_!”

With a wrenching twist, I felt the doors of my spirit slam shut, shoving Cole and Envy both _out_. I heard Ashes and Anselm growling. Suddenly, as abruptly as it had began, everything stopped, and I was back on the path from the Temple ruins, surrounded by mages and Templars, holding my enemy’s hand.

The Lord Seeker’s body began writhing, twisting in directions no body should ever bend. The illusion gone, the Envy demon stood among us, two sets of bloody arms bent forward under a mangled, eyeless head and gaping maw. Its stretched torso bent back and over, long spindly legs folded down from above its head. The effect was entirely disturbing. Envy literally bends itself over backwards trying to be what it’s not, apparently.

The moment it appeared, the rogue Templar officers began to attack us, and the loyal Templars - including Ser Barris, and two of the Templars who’d come with him - began to attack the Envy demon.

Unfortunately, the first thing the rogue Templars did was smite the lot of us mages. Fortunately, Cassandra is a Seeker, and there wasn’t a damned thing the traitors could do to stop _her_ . She held out one hand and then turned it up and clenched it into a fist, and suddenly the officers were all howling in pain, the lyrium in their veins turned to living flame. She barked a command for them to _kneel,_ and they could not resist.

Solas recovered from the smite first, and immediately froze Envy before healing the loyal Templars. Dorian recovered next, bathing the demon in lightning. Finally I recovered, to cast barriers.

“You are not enough, Envy!” I shouted, furious. “You will _never_ be enough!”

\-----

Everyone is celebrating. If I weren’t so exhausted, I would be too. Now I’m sitting next to Varric by the fire, just idly doodling, writing notes and looking around at all the happy people dancing and laughing.

It’s as close to a real _bembe_ as I’m likely to get here, short of throwing one myself, which, for the record, is a really terrible idea. I hope it pleases Elegua. I already set aside a shot of the hardest alcohol I could find to honor him. I wish I could be sure it will reach him.

Cullen was startled when we arrived back to Haven with a handful of new allies, four rogue Templar officers in tow, and everyone covered in demon blood. The officers are in the dungeons now, of course.

I’m so glad this is finally over. Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll wake up in my proper bed at home, finally. I admit, I’ll miss these people, though. Maybe I can visit again sometime?

Oh dear gods, Bull is drunk already. That’s got to be psychological somehow, there’s no way a man that big can get _that_ drunk that fast. What the hell is he drinking? Krem is...

Wait, I hear bells.

_Shit._

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits:  
> Lyrics modified from When the River Meets the Sea by Paul Williams, as sung by John Denver and Jerry Nelson as Robin the Frog
> 
> The Bembe Closing Song is traditional from Afro-Diasporic sources.


	11. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven is doomed, but the Inquisition is just getting started.
> 
> Much to Ember's chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to UncleDark and Cowoline for beta reading. Comments are always appreciated! -E-

The bells were scout alarms telling us there was an army approaching. They carried no banner. Cole appeared at the gates, asking to be let in. I recognized his voice, and nodded to Cullen that it was okay. Cole explained that the army belonged to the Elder One, and that he had come to kill me _personally_ for “stealing” the mark. He and his two lieutenants, a man and a woman, stood on the rise, the Elder One half again taller than either of the other two. Cullen recognized the man as an old Templar comrade named Samson. The other was a woman dressed in Tevinter mage robes.

Cullen commanded everyone inside the gates, and had us immediately set the trebuchets to pull an avalanche down on the army. At first that seemed to be enough - hundreds if not thousands of enemy soldiers buried alive under freezing snow - and we rejoiced.

But then an honest-to-Andraste _fire-breathing dragon_ appeared, and everything went straight to hell. We rushed to get everyone into the only full stone building that might withstand dragonfire. I stopped along the way several times to help people up and out of collapsed buildings, but for every body I found alive and helped hobble away, there was another out of reach, dying helplessly.

We were falling to despair almost as fast as to fire and ice.

“We’re dying, Herald, but at least we can choose how. Aim the last trebuchet at the mountain. Bury haven, and that monster with us.”

“Can’t we get the people out first?” I asked, desperately.

“Out to where?” Cullen demanded.

Cole spoke up, telling us Chancellor Roderick had final words to offer us. He knew a hidden path up the mountain. The people could get out!

“If you were meant for this, Herald, I pray for you!” Roderick coughed out.

“And I, you, Chancellor Roderick. Thank you,” I replied, solemnly. He smiled at me. Chancellor hang-the-murderer Roderick _smiled at me_. We really were all going to die, weren’t we?

I turned to the Commander, nodding seriously, and then heading for the door. He immediately set to work evacuating the chantry. “Wait for us to climb above the skyline,” he called back.

I had one job. Keep the Elder One busy long enough for everyone else to escape.

“Survive” was not required. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d died in a dream. Contrary to Hollywood tropes, dying in your dreams does not kill your body in the waking world, it just makes you wake up, or have dreams about being dead.

At this point, I pretty much _wanted_ to die in Thedas. _I wanted to go home, dammit._

\-----

For the record, the monster’s name turned out to be Corypheus. “Monster” seems like too soft a term. “Demon” means something else. “Abomination” is too specific here. I wish my lover, Liam, were here. I’m sure he’d have some appropriate Lovecraftian horror noun. Well, there I go: _Horror_ . Arcane Eldritch Horror. Unless Horror is a particular type of Demon… it is, isn’t it? ~sigh~ I won’t do that _creature_ the honor of calling him any kind of god, no matter how much power he accrues.

He said something about that. “Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.”

“Really? Then _why does it exist_ ?” ( _You know you’re a Religious Studies nerd when…)_

Shockingly, he didn’t like my attitude, however sincerely I meant the question. But at least it got him to drop me. Well, throw me down, really, but that was better than holding my whole body up by my left wrist. _So_ much pain. My question must have bothered him, though, because it slowed him down a bit, and gave me the chance to get around him to the trebuchet, at an angle where I could see Cullen’s signal.

That was all I really needed. After a bit more meaningless banter, I set off the final trebuchet, and went running for the cover I’d spotted on the way up. The eldritch horror’s dragon carried him off, while Haven was buried under the rumbling snow.

I woke up freezing, alone, in an empty, snow-bound cave lit only by the light from my sparking left hand. But at least I woke up. _Here._ I’d sort of hoped I’d finally wake up at _home_ , but I guess the work isn’t done.

\-----

I should probably write up the journey to find the rest of the survivors, but to be honest, aside from being long and freezing, it’s just not a very interesting story to tell. I had to walk by myself a lot.

Uphill.

In the snow.

Yes, _really_.

It was just long and painful and cold and lonely and confusing and cold and painful and _really fucking hard_ and _did I mention the_ **_cold_ ** ? I was so, _so_ numb and lost and terrified I’d never be found, that they wouldn’t even be looking for me, assuming I’d died, or worse, abandoning me because they didn’t need me anymore.

And yet just really not. It was just layers of dream, wasn’t it? Dream in the cold. Dream in the fade. Dream in bed, at home, tossing and turning, fevered delirium. Dream of pain, opening my eyes to sharp, shining white; glowing, searing green; throbbing, aching red. Pray, cry, whimper, walk, dream, stumble, and dream again.

At least I had the ability to re-light the random campfires I came across to warm up a bit. I can only imagine how a non-mage would have survived that blizzard. Even so, I’m pretty sure I almost died several times. I vaguely remember trying to pray to whoever would listen to please just _let_ me die here so I can go back _home_. What kind of torture was this dream meant to be, that I could not escape its grasp even by dying?

Over and over, I fell down exhausted from the cold, only to awaken to the howling in my ears, in my mind. Sometimes it sounded like there were more wolves than just Anselm. Sometimes it seemed like the echo of a second wolf, white to his grey, was walking on the other side of me from him through the snow. When I rose again to face the wind, satisfied yips and the comforting rumble of Ashes purring compelled me forward.

After a while, I started encountering Solas whenever I passed out, too. I don’t know if he actually told the others I was alive, or if they’re just incredibly stubborn and optimistic, but once I reached the edge of the valley they were camped in, Cassandra and Cullen found me, and I could afford to collapse.

So I did.

Which felt really, _really_ nice after all that walking and freezing.

Strong, warm arms wrapped around me, and I felt weightless. Reassuring, relieved voices surrounded me, and I felt safe.

Maybe death wasn’t my only way out after all.

\-----

I woke up to them arguing over who to blame, as if that’s ever useful. Of course everyone was freezing, terrified, lost, and probably starving. I had a brief, worried conversation with Mother Giselle about how to get them to conserve their energy and focus on the real problem.

Her solution was both brilliant and disturbing. She started singing a beautiful, simple hymn, and got almost everyone (everyone raised Andrastian, I guess) singing along. By the end I could easily hum the verse, and sing the chorus:

_“The night is long_  
_And the path is dark_  
_Look to the stars_  
_For one day soon_  
_The dawn will come”_

Aaaaaand then they were all _kneeling to_ **_me_ ** in reverence. Eeep! This was apparently more or less what she was aiming for. Because they’d all assumed I was dead and now they think I _came back from the dead_ , and that makes me a symbol of hope, like a freakin’ Yule tree. As if “Herald of Andraste” wasn’t messianic enough. I did _not_ sign up for this.

Did I?

~sigh~ _(I should check how long it took me to reappear after they assumed I was dead. If it was three days, I’m going to have some serious words with Someone when I get back home.)_

\-----

After the crowd dissipated, Solas asked to speak with me briefly. He pointed out that Mother Giselle is correct, whether I was _actually_ sent by Andraste or not, the people need me to accept the role. I see his point, and I understand the roles of clergy, up to and including oracles and vessels for connecting the people and the gods. But I’m not entirely comfortable with representing myself as such for a goddess _I’ve never met_. 

Or, well, that I have no memory of meeting, anyway. I suppose if they’re right that Andraste delivered me from the fade, then I _have_ met her, and maybe all this is fair game? My usual rule for spirit work is that if I don’t understand and retain the message, the Power is obliged to re-send until it sticks, because I can’t control their message, only my response. This is frustrating, to say the least.

Solas also told me that the orb Corypheus was wielding resembled an ancient Elven focus artifact, and that he feared if this information were to get out, it would become another excuse to persecute his kind. A legitimate fear, unfortunately.

Finally, he told me that he sensed the presence of a new place for us, to the North, and that he would guide me to it in dreams if I would lead the way in the waking world to make it look like I was the one who found it.

I don’t like feeling like a fraud, but I understand his point. So I agreed to do it his way, if he can find us somewhere to rebuild. Time and resources were rapidly dwindling, and I didn’t want everyone we managed to save from Haven’s destruction just dying more slowly of starvation and exposure in the aftermath instead.

_Out of the dry ice, into the liquid nitrogen, eh?_

\----

When I got back to the camp, one of the younger scouts came up to meet us, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and meekly requested my attention.

“Will you sing for us, Herald?” he asked, his eyes full of hope and admiration. It was all I could do not to shudder. I wanted to look away, it’s so uncomfortable being looked at like that when I’m not carrying a goddess. But Freyja has taught me well, so I settled back into the role of a Priestess, and nodded encouragingly.

“What would you like me to sing? I’m not sure I know the songs you do.”

“Anything, Your Worship! Andraste sang to the Maker. What would _you_ sing to the Maker?”

I thought about it for a moment. I don’t really know their Maker, unless they were synonymous with the Whole that is Divine, and even then, might that Whole have a different character in this World than in my own, somehow? All I had in that moment was that we were here, between places, freezing, trying to find our way to a new home. Did I know a song for _that moment_ , a song that might help him?

_“Where’re you going? Where’re you going?_  
_Can you take me with you?_  
_For my hand is cold and needs warmth._  
_Where are you going?_

_Far beyond where the horizon lies._  
_Where the horizon lies and the land sinks into mellow blueness,_  
_Oh please take me with you._

_Let me skip the road with you._  
_I can dare myself, I can dare myself._  
_I’ll put a pebble in my shoe and watch me walk:_  
_I can walk, I can walk!_

_I shall call the pebble Dare! I shall call the pebble Dare._  
_We will talk together about walking._  
_Dare shall be carried._  
_And when we both have had enough_  
_I will take it from my shoe singing ‘Meet your new road!’_

_Then I’ll take your hand, finally glad._  
_Finally glad you are here._  
_You are here by my side.”_

 It’s from _Godspell_ , so it seemed appropriate. I had drawn another small crowd by the time I finished singing, and some of them were crying and smiling at the same time. An effective ritual, at least.

Andraste, I hope I’m doing this right.  
\-----

I’m writing every day to stay sane.

There’s been a song stuck in my head since Haven was buried. As we’ve climbed the mountain, it’s gotten more insistent. The annoying thing is it sounds incredibly familiar, but there are no words, and I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before. I’m used to having a song stuck in my head all the damned time, but it usually shifts around which song, unless there’s a message to it. If there’s no words, how am I to derive the message?

I don’t think it’s just me, though, because I’ve heard other people humming it. But maybe it was just Cole, and he might be pulling it out of my head. Dammit, what is this song? Is it from a soundtrack? Lord of the Rings, maybe? Or Last of the Mohicans? No, no, I’d recognize that in a heartbeat. It’s kind of similar, but definitely not that. Multiple layers of soaring strings, with a deep thrumming sound underneath that isn’t drums. Maybe it’s all strings. I keep expecting to hear a high soprano start singing, but it never comes, or I’ve forgotten the part. Maybe the whole thing is actually sung a cappella without words? Argh!

At least it’s a fairly soothing song, when I’m not anxious about trying to interpret it. It prompts a sort of nostalgic mood, wistful. I’ve been sleeping better, but that might just be the exhaustion.

And I’ve been thirsty a lot more. But I’m probably dehydrated from the constant exercise and limited rations, so that might not be related.

——-

Solas showed me a castle in the dreaming. It was beautiful, shining white walls with colorful streaming banners and stained glass, all standing on an isolated ridge top, unassailable. The towers rose into the sky, and the bridge crossed a fathomless chasm. It must have taken magic to build, or how else could anyone get across? He says this isn’t quite what it looks like now, but this is the fade memory of the place over time. It’s called “The place where the sky was held back”. He suggested we call it “Skyhold”. It’s waiting for us, empty, strong walls relatively undamaged. I just have to find it in the waking world.

And I will, because something about it pulls at me, like a lodestone. It makes my heart hurt with longing to find it, and fills my head with music.

I’m trying to brace myself for disappointment. I can’t imagine any real place - even in this dream world - could possibly be as beautiful and enchanting as that castle in the fade. I don’t want to get my hopes up for a fairy tale when frankly even a dusty ruin that we can rehabilitate before we’re buried completely in snow and starved to death would be an improvement over wandering in these mountains.

Still, I woke up today feeling more certain than ever that we aren’t running away anymore, we’re running _towards_.

_Not all who wander are lost._

_——-_

I caught myself saying “Maker’s Breath!” today. Commander Cullen might be amused. I’m sure I picked it up from him.

As we walk, Varric and Dorian have been helping me improve my localized swearing. “ _Fuck me running up and down a hill with my grandmother on my back_ ” makes as much sense here as it does at home, and I doubt “ _Shit fire and save matches!_ ” needs all that much adjustment, but “ _Jesus H. Tap-dancing Christ on a Pogo-Stick_ ” needs some serious translation. I’m thinking “ _Holy Tap-dancing Andraste on a Pogo-Stick_ ” is the right direction, but I need to pick a different kind of dancing, and another thing to stand on, obviously.

Apparently the usual thing is to reference some scandalous body part of Andraste or the Maker, but I honestly think that’s more crass than creative. “Andraste’s Tits” are lovely, I’m sure, but actions speak louder than boobs.

“ _Holy Waltzing Andraste on a Nuggalope_ ” maybe?

——-

Every night by the campfire, somebody will ask me to sing. Cassandra and Cullen have assured me I’m not obliged to entertain everyone, but I do find it calming, and mostly the people asking have been very young or very old, and obviously seeking comfort, and I haven’t got the heart to tell them no. Sometimes I can get Leliana, Mother Giselle, or even Cullen to sing something between my songs, to give my throat a rest. I think tonight I want to try having a more formal bardic circle, to be more inclusive. I want to learn their songs too!

Not that I’m in any danger of running out of songs they’ve never heard before, but it’s difficult finding ones that make no references they won’t get. Mostly I’ve been singing songs about recovering from depression. They seem to fit the need.

_“The winter here’s cold, and bitter_  
_It’s chilled us to the bone_  
_Haven’t seen the sun for weeks_  
_Too long, too far from home_  
_I feel just like I’m sinking_  
_And I claw for solid ground_

_Pulled down by the undertow_  
_I never thought I could feel so low_  
_And oh, darkness, I feel like letting go!_

_If all of the strength and all of the courage_  
_Come and lift me from this place_  
_I know I can love you much better than this_  
_Full of grace, full of grace my love”_

and

_“Step by step it’s darker still_  
_Every vein inside is severing_  
_Going on’s an act of will_  
_And on that voice I’m betting everything!_

_Become as simple as the wind,  or as the beasts upon the earth_  
_Learn to control the inner power that was bestowed on you at birth_  
_May have to give a little shove, or just step back and take a breath_  
_When you have conquered fear of love you know that you have conquered death!_

_Never lose hope, because your spirit never dies_  
_You’re stronger than you think if you open up your eyes_  
_Take a look inside yourself and then ‘round where you stand_  
_And maybe, yes, just maybe the answer’s waiting in your hand!"_

\-----

That may have backfired. The rule for a bardic circle is “Pass, Pick, or Play”. I tried to encourage mostly Pass or Play, but just ended up with a lot of people picking me. So much for resting!

\-----

My hands hurt too much to write yesterday at all. Today they still hurt, but not quite as much.

I gave my gloves to a woman whose gloves were destroyed. Her hands were like ice, and I was afraid she’d lose fingers. I warmed them up for her, and gave her my gloves without really thinking about it. My hands are so often so warm, especially here in Thedas where all that fire affinity manifests so literally. But I’m not an endless font of fire, despite my name. So now my hands are stiff and sore from the cold. _Stupid stupid stupid_.

Cassandra was very annoyed, and got someone to dig another pair out for me. I’m fumbling my way through writing this journal entry, but I’ll be surprised if I can read it again later.

\-----

_We found it!_

It only took nine days of walking. It would have taken less time, but we had to keep our pace slow enough for everyone to keep together. We’ve left the horses mostly to carry what food and blankets we could bring as we evacuated, but as we eat through our supplies, mounts are freed up for the slowest and weakest to be carried.

I’m glad we have Master Dennet with us to keep the horses intact. He helps balance out all the loads each day. I’m sure we’d have lost quite a few of the horses he so generously provided if we didn’t have him caring for them. The brontos the Dwarves brought have been incredibly helpful as well. They don’t seem to mind the cold much, and can carry three or more times as much as the horses, which frees even more horses to carry people who can’t walk anymore.

Skyhold really is surprisingly close to what I saw in the dreams, just a bit more ruined. But nowhere near as ruined as it should be for how long it’s been neglected. And the magic there is still so strong it keeps the courtyard warm enough for the trees to be in a perpetual autumnal state despite the surrounding peaks being covered in permanent snowpack!

And we all fit inside! We set up camp in the courtyard immediately, and the packs were unloaded into the most intact buildings to be sorted later. A bonfire and several smaller fires were set up in the open spaces for everyone to warm up and relax a little. Rations are still tight until we can arrange for more. Hunting is difficult this high up the mountain, but meat is still the one thing we can get fresh.

It turns out, there’s a garden, and one of the trees is an apple tree! There’s definitely not enough apples to go around, but we pulled what we could to give the most vulnerable something fresh to eat. Cullen insisted I eat one. I felt guilty about that, my bruises and cuts were mostly healed by the mages and potions they gave me in the days after they recovered me. I may not be back to full, but I’m doing amazingly well all things considered. But he was worried that the cold would make me sick in my presumably-weakened state. Maybe I’ve been running on Adrenaline too long, but I don’t feel weak and injured or at all sick.

I feel _good_.

_We found Skyhold!_

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credits:  
> "By My Side" from Godspell, by Stephen Lawrence Schwartz  
> "Full of Grace" by Sarah McLachlan  
> "Never Lose Hope" by Heather Alexander
> 
> P.S. "Liam" == UncleDark ;)  
> While I did use my own names for the self-insert bits, all the real entities who aren't gods, embodied and otherwise, are renamed if they have a proper name. (Rabbit is still just Rabbit.)


	12. Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is big enough for what the Inquisition needs to become.
> 
> Is Ember?
> 
> Does she even want to be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a holiday. Have an extra chapter :) -E-

**_Skyhold: A stack of tidy papers_ **

They named me Inquisitor.  _ They named me the fucking Inquisitor. _ Everybody is so damned impressed by my coming back from not actually being dead in the first place, and knowing some songs they’ve never heard, they’ve decided I’m in charge. I told them, I haven’t been leading, I’m just your tie-breaker! They disagreed.

They totally set me up, too. They told me they were making me Inquisitor with everyone - I mean  _ absolutely everyone _ who made it to Skyhold with us, along with dozens more who had decided Skyhold was a pilgrimage - watching. If I’d turned it down in front of all those people who revere me as the freakin’ Herald of their goddess, they’d have been crushed. We can’t afford that kind of morale drop right now, and they knew damned well that I know it.

So of course I had to say ‘yes’, the same way a person put on the spot with a marriage proposal on live TV says ‘yes’ if they care at all for the one asking. Only backing out in private won't work here. I literally had _ no choice _ , unless I wanted to undermine everything we’ve worked for since I arrived.

So, yeah, I gave an impromptu speech about how we made it this far against all odds, and I’m nothing without them, and together we can accomplish anything. _ Blah blah stronger together blah blah all for one, one for all, blah blah fishcakes. _ I hate politics. Empty words and fucking propaganda. Good thing for them I’m not afraid of public speaking. They can’t have their precious figurehead be someone who shrinks from a podium, now can they?

Then they handed me a seriously huge ceremonial sword, which I held up like Luke Skywalker on the first Star Wars poster. Commander Cullen worked up the crowd, and everybody was cheering.

This is a really terrible idea. I’ve only barely managed to avoid a panic attack after the initial adrenaline rush of the ceremony dropped out. I am literally the  _ least  _ qualified person to run a major organization in this world. I barely know the place!  _ What are they thinking!? _

No, I know. They’re thinking everyone expects the Herald of Andraste to be the Inquisitor regardless of my qualifications. Well, as long as they’re willing to keep doing their jobs, I suppose I can handle being a figurehead who occasionally breaks ties.

I just… I don’t want this. I need to be able to walk away when the time comes, and I can just feel the target on my back growing bigger, and bigger, and...  _ Fuck. _

_ \----- _

Solas claimed the bottom floor of the rotunda almost immediately, and began to set up to paint the walls. I knew from the multiple colors that he was planning something specific, but I had no idea it would look like that! It’s beautiful! His style is very distinctive.

The murals - or I guess technically they’re frescoes - will all depict recent major events. The explosion at the Conclave, the founding of the Inquisition, the dark future at Redcliffe, and Corypheus descending on Haven. I look forward to seeing them all finished!

For now he’s just beginning the outlines on the Founding of the Inquisition. For some reason he has howling wolves around the Inquisition symbol. I asked him about it. He explained that wolves form packs. They hunt together to provide for the group, and defend each other. Apparently, they’re meant to represent our collective defiance or something.

I think he just likes wolves.

We talked a bit about Corypheus, about how he wants to take the throne of the gods for himself. Solas scowled, actually offended at that. Something about Corypheus’ goals had really gotten under his skin, apparently.

"No  _ real _ god need prove himself,” he admonished. “Anyone who tries is mad or lying."

“Well, he didn’t exactly strike me as sane, no,” I deadpanned. “Although, to be fair, he didn’t say he  _ is _ a god, but that he intends to  _ become _ one. He seems to assume that’s my goal as well.”

He shook his head, still bothered. “You are not so arrogant as that.”

I snorted. “I’m not so  _ masochistic _ as that. I have enough on my plate without having the obligations of a god added to the stack.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Who do you imagine can place obligations on a  _ god _ ?”

I shrugged, “Followers, if they expect to have any. Or other gods. If I need help dealing with a pushy god, I generally ask other gods who like me better, unless I know the god in question is already bound by specific agreements.” I shook my head, “But that’s irrelevant. Corypheus doesn’t really want to be a  _ god _ . ‘God’ is a job description. Gather all the power you like, but if you don’t use it to care for those beneath you, you’re not a god, you’re a  _ Thurs _ .”

“ _ ‘Thurs’? _ ”

“A dangerous force of nature, malevolent or careless,” I explained. “Godlike in power, but without a god’s ethics or give-a-shit. If they’re just neutral, we call them ‘ _ Jotnar _ ’. Either way, most people translate it as ‘giant’ or ‘titan’.”

“Giants and Titans are  _ very _ different beings,” Solas asserted.

I raised my eyebrows, excited. “Oh, are those specific things here? Where I come from, actual giants are just really tall people, legendary giants are anything  _ huge _ , and Titans are precursors to the gods in Classical mythology. What are they here?”

“Giants are large beasts, shaped generally like a human, but with a monstrous head. They are over twenty feet tall full grown, standing upright. They have long tusks, and one eye in the middle of their face instead of two. They are found in the Southern Dales.”

“Oh, a cyclops, okay. We have myths about those, too. What about Titans?”

“Titans are all-but-forgotten Dwarven legends. They were called the Pillars of the Earth. Ancient beings who lived beneath the ground, so large one could not tell where their bodies ended and the land began.”

“Awesome!”

“Literally,” he agreed.

“Yup. So what are gods, then, Solas?”

“That depends a great deal on who you ask,” he replied, pointedly avoiding my gaze.

“Well,  _ yes _ ,” I agreed, rolling my eyes, before seeking his out. “And I’m asking  _ you, Solas _ . What do you believe? Personally.”

“Ah.” He looked down at his hands for a moment. “I do not know that I can say what a god is, but I know what a god  _ isn’t _ .” He looked up again, eyes narrow. “Corypheus will  _ never _ be a god.”

I sighed. He’d dodged the question, but it didn’t matter right now. “He doesn’t have to be a god to wreak havoc, unfortunately.”

“All the more reason to stop him.”

“We had some other reason?”

“Perhaps.” He tilted his head. “Do you not want vengeance?”

I shook my head. “I admit, it’s tempting. It’s not easy to make me hate somebody, but I’m pretty damned comfortable hating that… that  _ monstrosity _ .”

“And yet?”

“And yet…” I sighed. “I can’t help but think that vengeance usually causes more problems than it solves. I feel like I’m on the edge of disaster here as it is. We need to stop him from destroying the world, from creating the world we saw in that… that…” I took a deep breath and tried again. “He’d ripped the veil to shreds. There were demons and red lyrium  _ everywhere _ . The world was saturated with magic, but instead of being beautiful like the visions you described of ancient Elvhenan, it was an absolute horror. We can’t allow that to happen!”

“Indeed. Nor will we. With you as the new Inquisitor, the people are more motivated than ever to achieve your goals. Use them wisely, friend.”

“I’ll do my best, Solas,” I frowned. “I just hope my best is good enough.”

\-----

I’ve been thinking. ( _ A dangerous pastime, I know. _ ) It doesn’t make sense that a singular, all-encompassing divinity like the Maker would even  _ have  _ a throne, much less that there would be a single throne for multiple gods. It makes sense that dreamers  _ seeking _ the Maker would  _ see _ one, but then why would a polytheist see  _ only _ one? Unless the Maker is understood to be one god  _ of many _ ?

What if the throne isn’t  _ for _ the Maker? What if the throne is part  _ of _ the Maker? What if the Maker intended to have an elevated mortal representative or an avatar all along? Was the throne actually for Andraste, empty because it wasn’t yet time?

It would make sense to me, in a world like this, for the throne to be not the  _ seat _ of the Maker, but the  _ face _ of the Maker, like the burning bush that greeted Moses. Wait, no, that’s kind of wrong. That implies that the Maker was waiting all that time for Andraste to come sit on their face.

Heh. I should tell that one to Sera. It’s too bad she wouldn’t get the horrible Jesus joke.

_ “Why are there so many Brides of Christ? _

_ Because He’s hung like this: _

_ >\----.----O----.----< _

_ And yeah, last time He came, it took Him three days to rise again, but it’s been over two-thousand years and He hasn’t come again since!” _

_ \----- _

Cullen found me staring at the new war table in the back room. I had pulled a chair up to the slab, and was staring intently at the map of the Frostback range with my arms on the table and my chin on my arms.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” he asked quietly when I failed to acknowledge his entrance.

“Where did he come from, Cullen?”

“Who, Corypheus?”

“How did he bring a whole army to Haven without us receiving any word from agents in Orlais or Ferelden? I get that our scouts in the mountains were overwhelmed by the time they got that far, but that army had to come  _ from _ somewhere. It had to gather, to become an army.  _ Where _ did he do it? How did they  _ get _ there? _ Why didn’t we know? _ ”

“That… is a very good question. Have you asked Leliana?”

“She doesn’t know either,” I mumbled sullenly, and then sat upright, to speak more clearly. “So of course she blames herself. But that can’t be it. It can’t just be that he fooled or killed every scout we had until she pulled them back to save the rest. The corrupted Templars were holed up in Ferelden. They can’t have crossed the open Bannorn in that state. There weren’t anywhere near that many Venatori in Redcliffe. The rest must have been from Tevinter. Corypheus  _ must _ have had a plan for how to get them all here, much less all at the same time. But I can’t see  _ how _ .”

Cullen stared at the map for a while, tracing his fingers along lines I couldn’t see, humming under his breath, brow furrowed.

“I hadn’t thought of it before, but… from what we saw, if what he said is true, Corypheus is a Darkspawn. It’s supposedly possible to travel the entire length of Thedas underground if you are patient and have no fear of the blight. We know there are entrances to the deep roads in these mountains.”

“Wouldn’t Orzammar have heard if an army was passing through their lands?”

“Orzammar’s territory mostly stretches North and East. If he had them gather to the West, they might have been able to emerge nearly on top of Haven without anyone in Orzammar ever hearing about it.”

I shook my head, still confused. “But the Templars came from the West.”

“True, but they would have had freedom of movement before they were visibly corrupted. The question is, where could they have incubated, and subsequently emerged?”

“Do they have maps in Orzammar showing the deep roads they don’t use?”

“I would expect the Shaperate to have any records that remain, yes. The Legion of the Dead aided Ferelden during the blight. Perhaps they would be willing to aid us in this? We should contact them, see what they have to say.”

“Okay. That’s Josephine’s thing.”

“Ordinarily, yes,” he agreed, “but I believe I will work with her in this case. King Harrowmont is on better terms with Ferelden than Orlais, and the dwarves respect a military perspective more than the usual surface diplomacy.”

I nodded absently, finally sitting upright. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Of course. I gave you my word that we would not have a repeat of Haven here, Inquisitor, and I meant it.”

“I know you did,” I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. “Too much of what happened at Haven was out of our hands, Cullen. We’ve got a better place to hold them off, but there’s still the issue of warning. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner, but I have a few ideas for how we can communicate over long distances faster than the ravens or runners.”

“Does it require the mages?”

“No,” I smirked, “it requires musicians.”

“ _ Musicians? _ ”

“Drummers, to be precise. And maybe firekeepers. They’re historical methods from my home. We can use the same codes either way. Make a series of codes that are a pattern of beats. They can be heard miles away when played on a drum, or seen for miles when a fire is hidden and revealed, or smoke is gathered and released. Teach the scouts the codes and set up stations with drums, fires, tarps, and spyglasses. Let them use whichever method will travel best with that day’s weather. No one can sneak up on us if we can spot them coming from miles away, and warn each other from even farther. Everything shouldn’t depend on fragile bird wings and exhausted runners.”

Cullen was nodding as I spoke, obviously thinking through my suggestions. When I finished, he looked at me seriously. “Given the weather in these mountains, there will be times none of those methods work.”

“True. We’re not giving up the runners and ravens, just adding more options. But then anything that would both stop a fire from being seen and stop a drum from being heard in these mountains would bring an army to a stop too, wouldn’t it? Or at least slow them down.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he shrugged.

“And maybe there  _ are _ magical methods we could add to the pile that I don’t know about. The point is, our system right now is too fragile, and costs lives when it breaks. There are so many ways we can reinforce it, create redundancies. Every messenger who can stay right where they are and still tell us what they know is a messenger we aren’t sending across enemy lines to get word to us.”

Cullen nodded firmly. “We should discuss this with the rest of the council at supper.”

“Okay,” I agreed, and then frowned. “Remind me, please, because apparently it’s taken me this long to remember what I already know, and too many people have already died for my forgetfulness.”

“It’s not your fault, Inquisitor. You saved as many as you could. You risked yourself to save us all. You stayed behind. You could have...” He hesitated, gathering himself, clearing his throat rather than finishing the thought aloud.

He seemed so upset at my willingness to risk myself. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d  _ wanted _ to die, just to go home.

I sighed. “How many were lost?”

He looked up, startled, and then shrugged. “Fewer than we feared. Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been much, much worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Another title. ‘Inquisitor Ember.’ Sounds even crazier than ‘Herald of Andraste’, right?”

“Not at all,” he smiled.

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that the official response?”

“I suppose it is,” he laughed, “But it's the truth. We needed a leader; you have proven yourself.”

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I'm a nosy, stubborn, tie-breaker. That's hardly what's needed to lead an organization like the Inquisition. Our escape from Haven was too close. I'm relieved that so many made it out, especially you, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine. You are the real leaders here. We wouldn't be here without you.”

He shook his head. “We can barely come to an agreement without you. Maybe a stubborn tie-breaker is exactly what we needed.”

“And the people need their supposed Herald,” I groaned. “I  _ know. _ I just hate this. I know I’m going to screw the whole thing up horribly somehow. You know I’m counting on you all to stop me from being too stupid, right?”

Cullen laughed. “I will if you will, Inquisitor.”

I grinned. “It’s a deal, Commander!”

\-----


	13. Clearing the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crestwood is a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to post a chapter for several days and keep getting distracted, sorry! ;)

As I approached Varric and his friend, I heard them talking. She was leaning with her elbows on the ledge, and Varric was giving her his undivided attention. I admit, I slowed my approach to listen in, purely out of curiosity. _Bad Ember, no cookie._

"How is he?" Varric asked.

"About the same," she replied. "I left him with Isabela and Fenris. She promised to keep him out at sea most of the time until I send word. It makes him nauseous, but it won't kill him, and it keeps Justice subdued."

"And Fenris?" _(Fenris is a name here? Huh…)_

"They seem to have come to some kind of understanding in the last few years. They focus on fighting slavers together, and try not to talk too much about magic. I think Fenris can see now how he would have done the same in Anders' place."

"That's a frightening thought."

"Can you blame them?"

"Fuck yes!" Varric said, rubbing his forehead with one hand, "I don't know, Waffles, it's hard to separate it from the rest of this ridiculous mess."

Having come up surprisingly closely behind them, I cleared my throat to get their attention.

"Pipes!" Varric exclaimed cheerfully, as if he hadn't just been so steeped in worry he missed my approach. "Hawke, this is the Inquisitor, Ember. Inquisitor, this is Lady Phoenix Hawke Amell, the Champion of Kirkwall, and a dear friend of mine."

I smiled welcomingly. She was slightly shorter than me, and of a more slender, athletic build, but she looked underfed and exhausted. Her hair was vivid red, brighter than mine, and not quite as orange, cut short in a spiky pixie cut. Her armor was mostly leather, wrapped in more belts and strips than Dorian wore, in black and deep red. She had a pair of wicked looking daggers strapped to her back, and a tired smile on her face.

"Inquisitor!" she greeted me, "Call me Hawke. Everyone does. Varric speaks highly of you. Any friend of Varric is a friend of mine."

"Then you must have a lot of friends! I’m pretty sure Varric knows everyone,” I laughed.

“I _know_ everyone. I’m _friends_ with precious few,” Varric corrected me.

"Fair enough. Please, Hawke, call me Ember. Varric makes you sound like a demigod. You look pretty human to me."

She smiled wryly, "Let me guess, you thought I'd be taller?"

"Something like that," I smirked.

"Hey," Varric interjected, "It's my job as your biographer to let everyone know how terrifyingly charming you are. Can I help it if they think you're also impossibly tall?"

"Compared to you, all humans are impossibly tall, Dwarf," she retorted.

"True," he agreed amiably. "Well, I'll let you two talk."

"You don't have to leave, Varric," I called to his departing figure.

"Oh, _yes I do_ ," he called back. I looked to Hawke, confused.

She shook her head. "He blames himself for this mess. He thinks if he hadn't gotten me and Bethany to follow up on that lead, Corypheus would never have escaped, and none of this would have happened."

"Is that true?"

"Maybe. But if he hadn't followed up on that lead, either or both of us might be dead, and Corypheus might be free anyway, but with more of a head start. We _did_ kill him, after all. He just didn't _stay_ dead."

"How rude."

"You believe me?"

I shrugged. "It's no weirder than the rest of what's happened so far. But it _is_ worrying. How did you kill him the one time?"

She smirked, and then sighed. "Brute force and magic, as usual. It wasn't easy. One of the hardest fights I've ever had, actually. Worse than a high dragon."

"You've killed dragons?"

"I don't like to, but yes, I've killed a few dragons over the years. And demons, abominations, blood mages, a harvester, darkspawn, a giant rock... thing.... Oh, and the Arishok."

"You've been busy."

"Not as much in the last few years. That was all back in our Kirkwall days. Mostly it's been running, hiding, and taking out the occasional slaver ship, since then."

"So I heard. Varric was asking after your friends?"

She nodded, "Mostly Anders. You've read Varric’s book?"

"Varric told me the stories, but you know how he is. Anders is your partner?"

Hawke looked up at me, startled. I guess that's not usually how people ask that.

"We... I..." She shook herself, "Yes, I suppose you could say that Anders is my partner. Or was. I'm not sure what to call our relationship anymore, but I took responsibility for keeping Anders alive the day he blew up the Kirkwall Chantry, and I can't take it back now. Mostly I try to help him keep Justice from taking over, or tipping back into Vengeance and doing something stupid again."

I frowned sympathetically. "Why did you take responsibility for keeping him alive? Because you loved him?"

She nodded and then shrugged. "Because I loved him. Because I agreed with his reasons, if not his methods. Because I thought dying after making a huge mess was a coward's path, and I demanded that he take responsibility for what he'd done. He and Justice had both expected to die, had asked me to kill them and get it over with. But I couldn't do it. If nothing else, he was our best healer, and the world was literally exploding around us. We _needed_ him."

I listened, withholding judgement as best as I could. I hadn't been there, didn't know what it was like to live through it. It was hard to sympathize with a man who _deliberately_ caused the deaths of so many, but all too easy to sympathize with a man who understood the suffering of far more, and saw nothing done about it for so long.

"For what it's worth, Hawke, I don't think Anders really caused this war. I've had reason to study the topic in tremendous detail since the Conclave, and it seems quite clear that the roots of the conflict go back decades, possibly centuries, and the current acute conflict began stirring in the Ferelden circle during the Fifth Blight, while Commander Cullen was there. Kirkwall was definitely one of the worst examples - from what Varric tells me, there’s something very _wrong_ with Kirkwall - but it was not at all the first."

"Oh, I know,” she agreed firmly. “I lived in Ferelden as a child with my father and sister both apostates. After my father died, we fled to Kirkwall during the blight in the hopes my mother’s family would take us in. Trouble with the Templars had been brewing for years there, and in Kirkwall when I arrived.”

“If anything,” she continued, “it was that damned red lyrium idol that we found in the deep roads that really set things off in Kirkwall. It drove Knight-Commander Meredith insane. In her paranoia, she tried to call for the Rite of Annulment. Anders was just responding to Justice's inevitable reaction.”

Hawke frowned, shaking her head slowly. “The thing is, we don’t know how much longer the tension would have held in relative peace if he hadn’t set it off. It seemed like maybe _finally_ I was starting to get somewhere with it when the Chantry exploded. I still think if he hadn't had Justice possessing him, he would never have done it. They still argue about it.”

I raised both eyebrows at that. "He's been possessed this whole time?"

"Since before leaving Ferelden after the blight, yes."

"How is his body holding up?" I asked. Prolonged possession is wearing on the body, in my experience. Mortal metabolisms aren't meant to run the extra energy full time.

She tilted her head, considering. "It's hard to say. He takes terrible care of himself, pouring everything he has into healing other people, trying to make up for his faults and fix the world. I think anyone else would be dead by now, but he's a Grey Warden and a Spirit Healer, and between those and Justice, it keeps him alive. Not _well_ , but alive. At least until the Calling takes him, but for all I know Justice interferes with that."

"Do you think removing Justice would help Anders?"

"I think so. I _hope_ so. But we've never found a way. And I don't know how being a Grey Warden factors in."

"I think we could find a way to separate them. But we can't afford to bring him here to try it right now until we know what's going on with the Wardens."

"I know, that's why he didn't come with me. Corypheus messed with his mind when we went after him the first time. I wasn't willing to risk it again in his current state."

 _That_ was alarming. "Corypheus messed with his mind? How so?"

"As far as we could tell, Corypheus can get to people through the blight, including Wardens. He was controlling a group of blighted Carta dwarves to get to me and my sister, because our father had created the wards keeping him trapped using his own blood when the Wardens realized that they couldn't handle Corypheus on their own."

I blinked. "Your father was a blood mage?"

"Only the one time, but he was an apostate, yes. So was my sister, before she joined the Grey Wardens."

"Your sister is a Warden too? Do you know where she is?"

"She's with the others, on Isabela's ship. I had Aveline get her out while I got Anders out when Stroud got word to me. They will stay as far away as they can until Varric or I send them word."

"Good. Okay, that's good."

"Stroud - my other Warden friend - is waiting for us in Crestwood. He has information about the Grey Wardens’ disappearance, but he has to hide. The other Wardens are hunting him."

"Oh fuck! We need to get to him before they do. I'll put together a team and leave first thing in the morning."

"Then I will leave now, to find him and let him know." She stood up to leave, but I reached out to her arm.

"Can I feed you first? You look like you haven't had a good meal in a while."

"I really should get going," she hesitated. I gave her a Mom look, and she relented, smiling. "I guess another hour or two won't make much difference. Where's Varric?"

"I'll send a runner. He can meet us in the tavern."

"Just like old times," she grinned. "Do you play Wicked Grace?"

"That's one of Varric's gambling games, right? I'm not much for gambling. It always goes weird on me."

"I'll teach you. It will be fun."

"Okay,” I smiled, “but I make no promises"

\-----

Mental note: Do not let Hawke and Varric lure me into staying up all night the day before we ride out. I have enough trouble with mornings as it is.

\-----

Crestwood has officially displaced the Storm Coast for Second Most Miserably Wet Place Evar. The Fallow Mire still takes the gold. I hadn’t realized it until we got here, but Crestwood is next to the crossroads between the Northern East-West and central North-South Imperial Highways. There’s a keep there, but it’s currently occupied by bandits. Sister Nightingale wants us to clear it out for her use, if possible, while we’re in the area. I wonder if we have permission from King Alistair to hold a Ferelden keep? I guess he might not mind much if the choice is between bandits and his old war buddy.

There’s a large, surprisingly complex mechanical dam with which a smaller lake has been created. I’m not sure why, though, since it doesn’t look like they’re using the water flow for any kind of industry. Maybe there used to be, and it’s just been dismantled since the dam controls were apparently destroyed during the blight? Why nobody would see fit to restore them in a decade, I’m not sure, but we’ll have to see to it now, because there’s a huge rift under the water on the upriver side of the dam. The resulting demons have plenty of dead bodies to animate, also because of the blight. Lower “Old” Crestwood and the caves below the lake were full of blighted refugees and villagers when the dam was damaged, causing the area to flood.

There’s something off about the story, though. I can’t quite picture how it was all supposed to have happened. How fast does that river flow, such that closing the dam floods the area too fast for able-bodied people to escape (granted that people dying of blight _aren’t_ able bodied)? If the caves are under the lake, but are separate enough not to be flooded naturally, how did closing the dam flood them? If it’s because the water level rose above the isolated entrances, how will opening the dam drain them enough for us to get to the rift safely? And why, if the dam controls are in the building at one end of the dam, do we have to go _through_ the keep to get to them?

It’s all very confusing. But the point is moot until we’ve dealt with Warden Stroud anyway, as that’s the higher priority.

\-----

Lovely. There were red Templars and Venatori occupying a small Elven ruin that I couldn’t help but wish Solas were there to see. We cleared them out only to encounter a bunch of wyverns deeper in. Wyverns, for the record, bear no resemblance at all to the stories back home. We cleared them all out too, and let the local apothecary know about the wyvern bodies.

I gather most of this area’s industry since the blight has been farming and crossroads market, but neither is doing at all well under current conditions. Hopefully we can help with some of that.

\-----

Warden Stroud is a solid fellow. He told us the Wardens are all experiencing a Calling, which tells them they’re going to die soon, and has them all in a panic. Warden-Commander Clarel of Orlais has them closing ranks to the point of hunting down dissenters to their emergency plans, which apparently involve dubious blood magic rituals.

It seems they’re terrified that if they all die, there will be no Wardens to end the next blight, and there are yet several Old Gods capable of becoming Archdemons. That makes very little sense to me, though, as I can’t figure out why _new_ Wardens couldn’t be made later if necessary. The first Wardens had to start somewhere, right? Wasn’t the Hero of Ferelden joined after the fifth blight started?

So why not just thoroughly document their processes and make sure several trustworthy non-Warden associates (like, say, _Fiona_?) have the information necessary to create new Wardens when the time comes? That’s even assuming all Wardens in Thedas are being affected. Clarel only commands the Wardens of Orlais, and in Warden-Commander Cousland’s absence, Ferelden.

Anyway, Stroud objected to Clarel’s radical plan, so now he’s being hunted by his fellows. The whole thing only came up because Hawke asked him to look into red lyrium, and he ended up looking into Corypheus and the possibility that the Ancient Magister can jump bodies the way Archdemons can, and if so, _how_ to kill him, since having a Warden deliver the killing blow doesn’t seem to help.

So now he’s going out to a place called the Western Approach to find out what this blood ritual actually does, and how it’s supposed to help the Wardens under Clarel’s command preemptively stop all future blights. He’ll send us word when he knows more, so we can meet him and deal with whatever he’s found.

Hawke opted to accompany him. Varric will be disappointed, I’m sure.

\-----

Right, so we’ve captured Caer Bronach for the Inquisition. Leliana had given Bull a flag to claim the keep for us. Alas, nobody here is familiar with Eddie Izzard, so my giggling “Do you have a _flag_?” just had them looking at me funny.

Except Cole, of course.

“ _It’s not fair to offer cake instead of death if the cake is a lie._ ”

I laughed. “The cake isn’t actually a lie, Cole, you just have to know where to look for it.”

He nodded earnestly. “I know where to look for cake. It’s much nicer than death.”

“Yes,” I smiled indulgently, “that’s the point. Who would choose death over cake?”

He frowned, “People who hurt. I help them.”

I nodded solemnly. “Yes, you do, Cole. And sometimes you give them cake, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do!” he perked up.

“Well, there you go, then,” I laughed again.

“Stop encouraging him, Boss,” Bull grumbled.

\-----

Either Crestwood is home to the sneakiest, most altruistic mechanic in Thedas, or the Mayor is a liar. The dam controls were not in any way damaged. We had no trouble draining the lake. I still don’t understand how that made the underground caves be not under _water_ caves, but since it meant I didn’t have to practice treading water in full armor while fighting demons and operating a mysterious rift anchor, I’m okay with it. We ended up exploring a rather damp ruin of a Dwarven thaig filled with demons and soggy corpses that were too stubborn to lie down. 

Once the big rift was closed, the weather cleared up. I gather that wasn’t a coincidence, as the locals told us the relentless rain started right after the rift appeared. They were grateful to be getting back to their farms, mostly, and eager to get the market back up and running now that the weather has cleared and the bandits and evil minions have been run off. But they’re still pretty worried about that dragon, so I’m hoping Cassandra can bring a team back here to take care of it soon.

\-----

I jolted awake, much earlier than usual for a morning in Skyhold. I had a dream that was a memory of a much older dream. Suddenly I knew why Solas seemed so familiar. I’d dreamt about him years ago back home!

I was traveling with an ageless elven man who was my teacher. He looked like Solas, but with long, dark hair. We were being hunted by some monsters, and were running to meet with fellow rebels led by him.

I was in love with him, but had not revealed this to him because it was inappropriate for an apprentice to have an affair with their master. I was biding my time until my training was done so that I could finally confess my infatuation, but the hunters caught up with us before my final test.

When we found the rebels - a pair of elves dressed like urban punks Sera would have absolutely loved - my beloved teacher turned to me and informed me that my final test was to hold myself perfectly still and not cry out or even move at all while the two other elves killed him, to free me from his mastery. If I cried out, we would all be found and killed by our enemies, whom we had only just escaped. If I interfered, I would remain his student, and he my master, which neither of us wanted. If I did nothing, I had to watch the man I was in love with be murdered and live with my own failure to intervene.

I woke up with that image - Solas bleeding from multiple stab wounds while staring at me impassively - flooding my mind. As I was dreaming I’d felt anguish and despair. Once I woke up I added _wrath_.

Irrationally, I blamed Solas for the actions of the dream teacher, as though we were ourselves in the dream. A dream I just re-lived, all too vividly. A dream I originally had when my body at home was still like the one I have here in Thedas. An impossible dream… _Where had that original dream even come from??_

I threw on leggings and a tunic, skipping my boots entirely, and stomped my way down the stairs, through the hall and into Solas’ rotunda to walk right up to Solas and punch him feebly in the shoulder, scowling.

“To what do I owe this gracious salutation?” Solas asked, bemused.

“You! You… are so... _mean!”_ I complained sleepily, my face still screwed up like a petulant child.

“I see,” he replied cautiously, clearly aware that I had only just awoken. “And what precisely have I done?”

“You made me watch you die!” I declared, pushing on both his shoulders with my hands until he brought his own arms up to grasp above my elbows and stop me.

“I did not visit your dreams this morning, _da’len_ ,” he explained calmly, almost apologetically. “Perhaps it was a spirit of fear?”

I sighed and dropped my hands. “No,” I groaned, pulling my hands down across my face. “It was a memory of an old dream I used to have at home. You were my teacher, and I...”

“You dreamt of me _before_ you came here?” he interrupted, startled.

I nodded. “Remember how I kept saying you looked familiar when we first met?”

“I had assumed it was simply that you did not remember our initial meeting in the fade.”

“No, it was deeper than that, and now I remember why. I had dreams about you years ago. I only remember the one dream at all clearly now. You were my teacher, and it was time for me to stop being your student. The final test you set for me was to watch you be killed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That does not sound like something I would do.”

I shrugged, looking down at his chest. “It sort of made sense in context. You were the leader of a bunch of rebels, but you felt like none of us were truly thinking for ourselves, and you were tired of being the only person who could really think. So you decided the only way I’d truly be free was if you were dead. Only I didn’t want you to die, because…” I bit my lip, flushed from the sudden rush of remembered love, and fear.

Solas waited a moment before tilting his head down to find my eyes, and prompting gently, “Because…?”

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let the rest of the memory out in a rush. “Because I was in love with my teacher, and hadn’t told him because it was inappropriate for a master and apprentice to become involved. So I’d been waiting for my training to end so I could tell him, and then my final test turned out to be watching him-” I opened my eyes, and met his gaze, “- watching _you_ die.”

Several expressions flitted across his eyes, while the rest of his face barely twitched: confusion, contemplation, wariness, concern, and finally pain. He startled me by pulling me in for a hug, but I still let my arms wrap around his chest, and leaned my forehead on his shoulder.

“I am so sorry, _da’len_. It was only a dream. I do not know what, if anything, it may mean that you had it before coming here, but I promise that I have no intention of dying, much less forcing you to watch.”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” I mumbled into his shoulder, “but it’s still a really mean thing to do.”

I felt as much as heard his chuckle.

\-----

“ _Oh my gods_ , the floor is cold in here, Solas. How do you not freeze your elven toes off?”

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did have that dream Emberquizzy tells Solas about, years before playing Dragon Age. Not saying it was about Solas, per se, but hey, useful coincidences FTW, eh?
> 
> -E-


	14. Enthusiasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember checks in with the Inner Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in a row! Woo! Here's the chapter I *meant* to post, if I'd posted the previous chapter on time.
> 
> Note: The Hex Chess described below is A: An actual type of chess and B: quite possibly what was depicted in the game. That took some effort to find, let me tell you... ;p

Josephine acquired an Arcanist for the Inquisition. We’ve only talked the once and I’m already excited to talk to her again, she was so freakin’ adorable. She was what a friend of mine called “relentlessly cheerful”, while being almost as creepy as Wednesday Addams, in the best possible way. Granted, her being a dwarf adds to the effect. I couldn't tell if she deliberately played it up to manipulate people’s reactions, or if she was just that damned cheerful and didn’t mind dwarf jokes.

She was absolutely fascinated by magic and had studied with a wide variety of sources, starting with the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold, where she met Cullen before he was transferred to Kirkwall. She was actually referred to the Circle by the Hero of Ferelden, and ended up helping them rebuild.

She immediately wanted to examine my hand, of course, which I was fine with. She asked if she could take a tissue sample. Well, she was a bit more crude than that, while being just as cheerful as always and apologetic. I assured her that I understood her fascination, and was very interested in any results of her research. And I agreed that, provided she could properly anesthetize my hand first, and used appropriate hygiene methods, I was fine with her taking a small biopsy from the mark.

She just about bounced out of her boots at that.

Her first assignment was to upgrade the equipment our core crew used with suitable enchantments. She said we can help design them if we want to, and she’ll want to take our measurements to make sure that each custom object is perfectly suited to its prospective owner.

I promised her that if Josephine can’t find a sufficiency of lyrium for her purposes, she can at least have any of the potions they give me that I don’t need when I return from the field. They never ask for them back and always give me more when I head out. I’ve got a whole pile of them in a cabinet in my suite, now. I’m not sure it’s the best form for her work, but she can always let the water evaporate, yeah? Salt and sugar recrystalize that way.

So, I’ll send what I’ve got down in crates for her.

This is going to be  _ fun _ !

\-----

Oh, and she’s yet another scary redhead for the Iron Bull to flirt with. I think that brings the count up to five now?

\-----

I’m trying to decide if I’m surprised that Cassandra loves romance novels. I found her sitting under the tree near her training dummy today, reading.

“Good book?” I asked.

She gasped, startled, and scrambled up to hide the book behind her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“So, I’m  _ hallucinating _ books, then? That’s new.” I deadpanned.

She blushed, and stammered. “Oh that, just... reports from Commander Cullen.”

I shook my head, laughing. “I take it back, Cassandra. You’re not as bad a liar as I am. You’re  _ worse _ .”

She huffed in disgust. “It's of no interest to you, I'm certain. It's a book.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t hallucinate that part,” I nodded mock-solemnly.

“It's one of Varric's tales,  _ Swords and Shields _ . The latest chapter,” she finally admitted.

Dorian walked by just then and teased her about it. “It’s her favorite. I couldn't finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried.”

“Hey now, Dorian, you get drunk, I get cheese, she gets sappy books. There are enough vices to go around.” He just smirked at me and continued towards the tavern.

Cassandra sighed. “It's literature.  _ Smutty _ literature.”

I nodded, smiling calmly. “Okay. Are we talking high romance and vague sex scenes, or tie-me-to-the-bed with ‘throbbing’ detail?”

“Inquisitor!” she gasped, scandalized. She clutched the book to her chest.

I smirked. “Can I read it?”

“You!? No!” She almost looked panicked.

I pretended to be indignant. “Why  _ not _ me?”

“You’re the  _ Inquisitor _ !” she sputtered.

I shrugged. “So? It would hardly be the first smutty novel I read. Probably not even the worst.”

She sighed. I couldn’t tell if she was accepting defeat or relieved to find a kindred spirit. “They're terrible, and  _ magnificent _ ! And this one ends in a cliffhanger!” she gasped, rushing on with enthusiasm. “I know Varric is working on the next. He must be!” Her eyes grew wide, and she looked up at me. “You! You could ask him to finish it, command him to…”

I raised an eyebrow, extremely amused. She scowled and turned away. “Pretend you don't know this about me."

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I walked away, leaving her to enjoy her book in peace.

\-----

“Varric!” I called out as I entered the Great Hall, “I need your help. I have an idea for how you can make up with Cassandra.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a lost cause, Pipes,” the dwarf replied, not bothering to look up from his endless letter writing.

I grinned conspiratorially, sitting down across from him. “She’s waiting for the next issue of  _ Swords and Shields _ .”

He looked up at me, eyebrows raised. “I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you just said that Cassandra read my books.”

“Well, you already knew she read the Tale of the Champion. Turns out, it’s not even her favorite.”

“Are we talking about the same Cassandra? Tall, grumpy Seeker. Likes stabbing things?”

I nodded.

“Wait, did you say the romance serial?” He shook his head. “She'll be waiting for a while, then. I haven't finished it and wasn't planning to.”

I glared at him, sternly. “See, that’s just cruel, Varric. This is exactly why my boss refused to publish a cliffhanger without having the next book on contract!”

He shrugged, holding up his hands in protest. “That book is easily the worst I've ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink.”

That surprised me. “Really? Cheesy romance novels can usually get away with being terrible and still sell like pancakes on Sunday morning. Cassandra certainly seems to be hooked on it.”

“And I honestly thought a hole in the sky was the weirdest thing that could happen. Wait, did you just say you used to work for a publisher?”

I nodded. “Book cover design; for romance novels, even.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “So... you want me to finish writing the latest issue of my worst serial, for  _ Cassandra _ . That's such a terrible idea, I  _ have _ to do it. On one condition: I get to be there when you give her the book.”

I grinned. “Well, of course. How are you supposed to make up with her if you aren’t even there?”

“I'll get to work then.” He stood up from the table and started to move away. “You know,” he mused, “The fact that the book is terrible just makes it all worthwhile somehow.”

\-----

Varric loaned me copies of several of his books so I didn’t have to cajole Cassandra out of hers. He was right,  _ Swords and Shields _ is easily the worst of them, although it’s still more to my tastes than  _ Hard in Hightown _ . And I was right, it’s far from the worst romance novel I’ve ever read. A cheesy romance is relaxing sometimes, and I could probably stand to understand the cultural implications of the tropes used better, right? So it’s research, I swear!

I gave Varric some plot bunnies for the sequels - gods know I had enough author friends back home who liked my crazy plot bunnies - but he just gave me a mysterious smile and went back to his writing without a word.

\-----

I found Commander Cullen in the garden, finishing up a game with Leliana played on a hex board, with three colors of spaces and pieces.

"That piece wasn't there a moment ago," he observed.

"Such accusations Commander," Leliana retorted.

"Doesn't matter, I will win any - Inquisitor!" He all but jumped up from his chair as I approached, but I waved him back into his seat.

"If you leave, I will consider it a forfeit," the spymistress admonished, sternly.

I looked at her, confused. "Is something wrong? You seem rather serious for a board game.”

Cullen smiled wryly. "She's upset I won our last game."

Leliana frowned, seeming to confirm his assessment. "That was luck. You cannot rely on it."

"I'm not. I have you in three because I'm  _ good _ at this." I raised my eyebrows and smiled. It was good to see Cullen take such clear pride in something.

"Well played," Leliana smiled, finally, and stood up to leave. "I expect a rematch."

"Of course," he agreed, "and I should return to my duties as well. Unless you'd care for a game, Inquis... Ember?"

"You  _ do _ remember my name!" I grinned as I took the Nightingale’s seat. "I was starting to wonder if my new title made you forget it!"

He chuckled, and started resetting the board.

I examined the board more closely. A larger hexagon board made of smaller hex spaces, six to a side. There were various pieces carved from ivory or jet, inlaid with bronze. So not three sets of pieces as I'd first thought, but two. The way the pieces added up seemed a bit like a chess set, with a large set of low pawns and taller pairs of matched pieces.

I nodded, as he finished setting up the board. "I'd be happy to learn about this game, but I'm afraid I've never seen it before."

"Do you know how to play chess?"

"On an eight-by-eight square board, yes. I'm not very good at it, but I do know how."

"Perhaps you will enjoy this variant more," he offered, gesturing for me to take up the white pieces.

"As long as you're not too disappointed by the lack of challenge," I agreed amiably.

He showed me each of the pieces, explaining their names, and how they moved on the hex board. Sure enough, they correlated to the familiar pieces, except there were seven pawns and three bishops - which he called mages - per side, and I had trouble remembering exactly how to move the knights.

As we played, Cullen relaxed enough to talk about his family for a while. "As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won, which was  _ all the time _ . My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won..." he laughed, and then pointed to where my knight could move. "Two along the straight lines, and then out, not back in."

"Right, okay," I shook my head in frustration. "I should probably have drawn some diagrams or something."

"You’ll pick it up as you go," he assured me. "Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen any of them in years. I wonder if Mia still plays."

"How many siblings do you have?" I asked absently, trying to split my focus between my Commander and the board, and failing at either.

"Two sisters and a brother,” he declared with obvious affection. “They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should."

"Does anybody ever write as often as they should?" I laughed, and then bit my lip trying to sort out where my queen could move.

"Do you have siblings?" he asked me, after a few more moves.

I nodded. "Older sister, younger half-brother, older step-sister and brother."

He looked up at me sadly, catching my eyes. "One of your parents died?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, just separated. It's pretty common where I'm from. My Dad remarried a couple years later, hence step-siblings and half-brother. My Mom never did."

"She must be lonely," he frowned.

I shrugged, smirking fondly. "Maybe a little. Mom's not really a people person, but family is important to her. She spends a lot of the time when she isn't working taking care of Grandma."

"What work does she do?"

"She's an engineer. Both my parents are."

" _ Is _ your mother dwarven, then?"

"No, there aren’t any where I come from, just humans. Wait, the towers go along the  _ wide _ lines?"

"Yes. It's the mages that go the other way. Can you tell me more about your home?" he asked. He sounded wistful.

"I don't know how much sense it will make, but sure. Somewhere more private, though. Argh, how am I supposed to protect my king if I can't just surround him?"

"If you only play defensively the game never ends," the Commander admonished, chuckling.

"So I should try to rush towards losing  _ faster _ , then?" I snarked back.

He just laughed, shaking his head. "Checkmate. This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"We can't be serious all the time. Well, maybe  _ you  _ can..." I rolled my eyes, grinning at him.

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck with one gloved hand. "If you like, we can play on the square board next time."

"Sure,” I shrugged, “I'll still lose horribly, but at least you won't have to explain the moves to me every turn!"

He laughed. "I'd like that," he said, smiling, only to catch himself, "Uh, that is, spending more time with you, I mean. I don't mind explaining the game."

I shrugged, still smiling. "I admit, I prefer cooperative games, but I wouldn't mind brushing up on my chess if it means seeing you relax once in a while."

\-----

We were in the Hinterlands again, tracking down a veteran mage named Ellendra who had gone missing from the Cumberland circle. One of the scouts had found her phylactery and a letter written by shaking hands tucked in the pockets of a dead Templar named Mattrin. He had apparently been looking forward to meeting her until lyrium withdrawal caught up with him and he took poison rather than risk hurting innocent people in his growing madness. If only more Templars had his integrity.

Vivienne and Fiona both recognized the enchanter’s name and recommended that we recruit her. I wanted to check in on Redcliffe anyway, so down the hill we went.

It hadn’t been a particularly hard day, just a long, sad one. Dorian and I in particular had spent the day bantering about everything and nothing in an effort to avoid thinking too deeply about how things had gone last time we were in the area.

After dinner, the Iron Bull, Varric, and Solas all retired to their tents fairly quickly. I sat first watch with Dorian beside the small campfire. Cole kept us company. Apparently he doesn’t need sleep. 

The spirit boy peered at Dorian from under his huge hat. “Why are you so angry at your father? He wants to help and you know he does, but…”

Dorian stared at the fire, his immaculate brows furrowed. “I'm not certain I can explain it to you.”

“You love him, but you're angry.  _ They mix together, boiling in the belly until it kneads into a knot. _ ”

Dorian nodded and sighed, looking down at his folded hands. “Sometimes... sometimes love isn't enough, Cole.”

**“** Enough what?” Cole asked, confused. **“** _ His face in the stands, watching as I pass the test. So proud there's tears in his eyes. Anything to make him happy, anything.”  _

Dorian put his face in his hands.

“Why isn't that true anymore?” Cole pressed.

“Cole, this... is not the sort of discussion for an audience,” Dorian pleaded from behind shaking hands.

I put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Cole, let him be.”

“But I want to understand. ‘Love isn’t enough’?  _ Enough what? _ ”

I took a deep breath. “Well, for one thing, love isn’t enough to make it okay when people hurt each other. It’s a motivation to  _ try _ to fix it, but not everything  _ can _ be fixed.”

“But he -” the spirit started again, but I shook my head, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“Whatever it is, Dorian is allowed to say ‘no’, Cole. If you want to help people, you have to respect when they say ‘no’.”

“He didn’t say ‘no’,” Cole replied, confused.

I smiled. “Yes, he did. He said he didn’t want to discuss it in front of an audience. You can ask him again sometime when you’re alone, and if he still doesn’t want to talk about it, you have to let it be until he comes to you, okay?”

Cole’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly, as if committing the new rule to memory. “I will ask when it’s just us, Dorian,” he promised, and then he disappeared.

I looked across the fire to where the Tevinter mage sat, his head still in his hands. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but he’d just said he didn’t want to talk about it, so I just sighed and looked for a stick to poke in the fire.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he spoke up after a few minutes.

I nodded to him slightly, hoping my sympathy showed in my smile. “If you need me to intervene more thoroughly, just say so. I know how to be blunt with well-meaning, clueless types.”

“That will no doubt serve you well,” he laughed wryly.

“I don’t know. So far Josephine is moderately horrified by it,” I grinned, remembering the lecture my rant in Val Royeaux earned me.

“And yet, she clearly adores you. They all do, it seems. If I’d known all it took to win the unadulterated adoration of the masses was dying and coming back to life, I’d have arranged something years ago,” he smirked.

I groaned, leaning forward to fold my arms on my knees and drop my head onto my arms. “Gods, don’t remind me! I didn’t die, dammit! I’m not the second coming of frelling… Andraste, or whoever!”

“No?” he laughed. “How terribly inconvenient. And everyone was so excited. We were planning a party. I was going to send the Black Divine a letter.”

“The  _ Black _ Divine.” I repeated, struggling to remember the Chantry history Mother Giselle had provided.

Dorian looked at me strangely. “You people aren’t supposed to talk about the Black Divine are you?” 

“I guess?” I shrugged, shaking my head. "So, why are they called the 'Black Divine'?"

"We don't actually call him that any more than you call yours the ‘White Divine’,” he replied dryly. “In the Imperium, he's ‘The  _ True _ Divine'. The woman sitting on the Sunburst Throne is some backwater pretender. It all stems from a disagreement over Andraste. Marvelous, isn't it?"

"That is usually how denominational schisms happen, yeah.” I grinned, and then bit my lip, reminding myself to speak cautiously. I  _ wanted _ to trust Dorian, but that didn’t mean I  _ should _ . “So what was the disagreement?"

"The Imperium believes Andraste was a mortal woman, and a mage,” he explained. “Down south they say, 'No, she's the Bride of the Maker! Ascended to His side, divine provenance, blah blah blah.'”

I raised an eyebrow at his dismissive tone, but he just shook his head. “We feel better thinking Andraste was one of us. Makes executing her less damning, you see."

“That would do it, yeah. So you're Andrastian too, then?"

"Ah, the big question," he sighed. "It might surprise you that I do consider myself Andrastian. I simply do not believe in the Chantry. It is a relic from a bygone age desperately clinging to relevance. It's not an opinion that makes me popular."

"Probably not, no. I imagine there are plenty who agree with you, though."

"I will say this, though," he replied soberly. "I may not believe in the Chantry, but I do believe in you."

"How so?" I barely resisted flinching, keeping my tone as neutral as I could manage.

He held my gaze, his expression serious. "That the Maker sent you, whether through Andraste or fate. Cassandra is not wrong. You are what we needed most at the moment we needed it.  _ That _ is what they will say in ages to come."

I did wince at that. “I get that it’s good for morale to have the Herald be the Inquisitor, but I still think this is a mistake.”

“Why?” His smile was surprisingly gentle. “You’ve gotten them this far, haven’t you?”

“I guess?” I pulled my hands through my hair, groaning slightly. “It’s… I don’t know my way around any of this. If the Maker or Andraste sent me, they didn’t leave a calling card. I have no idea what I’m doing! I wake up every day terrified that I’m going to ruin everything!”

He smirked, suddenly, and leaned back, putting his arms behind his head. “Well, you can’t do  _ that _ . You’re not from Tevinter, you see. Ruining everything is our Maker-bestowed purpose after all, and we do so hate sharing.”

I laughed helplessly, shaking my head. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dorian.”


	15. Skin Starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull is concerned about the Inquisitor

**_Skyhold: A leather-bound journal_ **

“Hey Boss.” The Iron Bull found me sitting at a table in the tavern, writing in this journal Josephine gave me when Leliana told her of my frustrating habit of writing all my thoughts out in a strange alphabet on loose sheets of paper. The new journal has a lock on it, and Leliana has said she doesn’t expect me to turn my journal in to her anymore, but that isn’t going to stop me from using the codes. I thought about switching to Elder Futhark. It’s much faster to write. But until I’m sure they don’t match any Dwarven runes here, I’m not willing to risk it accidentally making my journal explode or something.

I looked across the table as the Iron Bull lowered himself onto the bench. “What’s up, Bull?” I asked.

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “You remember you said that once you trusted me, I could ask you anything and you’d answer me if you could?”

I didn’t specifically remember it, but that’s pretty much just how I am with anyone I trust, so I shrugged and nodded.

“Well, do you trust me?” he asked.

“Mostly, yes. But you know that ‘anything I can answer’ is limited not only by my knowledge, but by my obligations, right?”

“Of course. And our audience. So, can I talk to you in private?” He seemed concerned.

“Sure. Um, my quarters, I guess?” My new suite has a desk and a fireplace, so it’s not like they expect me to only ever sleep there.

“Works for me, if it’s ok with you,” he agreed.

The room they gave me in Skyhold is beautiful, and they let me choose the decorations myself. But it’s up several flights of stairs. Thankfully I’m in much better shape than I was when I arrived, although I might be developing a little problem with those  _ glorious _ stamina potions they give me for field work.

“So,” I began, walking to the hearth to get the fire started, “what do you want to know, Bull?”

“When’s the last time someone held you?” the Iron Bull asked, bluntly.

I paused, a piece of kindling in my hand, staring blankly at the ashes of the previous fire. “That is... not what I thought you’d ask.” I looked over my shoulder to where he was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression somehow both stern and relaxed at the same time. I squinted, trying to remember the last time I’d gotten any snuggles, but the only thing that came to mind was curling up with Liam at the con before I got sick and woke up here. 

“Before the Conclave, I guess? Why?”

“You’re serious? No one has really touched you, except to greet, hurt, or heal you, since this whole mess began?”

“No? Wait, Solas hugged me the other day when I’d had a nightmare, but that’s it, I think. I mean, I assume I’ve been held when people have had to take care of me. I know Cullen carried me out of the snow after Haven. But nobody has snuggled me or anything when I’m awake. Why?”

He huffed, and then walked over to me. “May I touch your shoulders?” he asked.

“Sure,” I agreed, still wondering what he was on about. His huge hands came to rest on both my shoulders, his thumbs along my spine. That’s all he did, just rested his hands on my shoulders, warm, and heavy. “Ohhhhh,” I groaned, shoulders slumping. My stomach sank, and I felt a little dizzy. I realized a moment later that I was holding my breath.  _ How had I gotten like this? _

“Yeah. That. You’re wound up tighter than Bianca, Boss. You’re like this every day. You never really relax until you’re too exhausted to hold yourself up. It’s not healthy. Why don’t you get help?”

“Help from who? Most people don’t even touch me in greeting anymore. Even the healers don’t actually touch me when they heal me, unless they have to. I don’t want to just start imposing on my friends. Do we have massage therapists and I missed it?” I snarked back, too tired to really be irritated.

“You could find someone to fuck you,” Bull replied, bluntly.

I snorted. “Yeah,  _ no _ , Bull.” I rolled my shoulders, and he removed his hands.

“Why not? I know humans can be weird about this stuff, but you aren’t even a virgin.”

“How can you know a thing like that?” I turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. I was genuinely curious. The Iron Bull is  _ Sherlock  _ observant, but with better social skills.

He shrugged, smirking. “You laugh at Dorian and Blackwall’s innuendos, and even respond in kind. Sera’s crass jokes don’t make you blush. You understood what Cole said about me, and caught immediately that Dorian preferred men.”

“Ah. Actually, all that would have been true when I was still a virgin, except maybe the blushing, Bull.”

“ _ Really. _ ” He replied, disbelieving.

I laughed. “I wasn’t raised Andrastian. I come from a very different culture than the others here. That, and people have been coming to me for advice about love and sex since long before I had any practical experience.” I scrunched up my nose. “I’m not sure why.”

“But you have an idea,” he observed.

“Yeah, I do, but it’s...” I sighed. “Okay Bull, I need you to swear to me by the Qun, or whatever you hold sacred, that what I tell you in confidence does not go past you. It doesn’t go into your reports. It doesn’t get passed on to Krem, or the others.  _ Nobody _ .”

His expression was carefully blank. “If you tell me something that makes me worry you’re in danger, can I act on my concerns?”

“If your first step is to bring those concerns to me, yes, I trust your judgement.”

“Alright. I swear by the Tome of Koslun that I will keep your confidences. Good enough?” 

“The Tome of Koslun is Qunari scripture?” I asked.

“Basically, yeah.”

"Is that how people take oaths under the Qun?"

"No. We don't really do oaths in the Qun the way outsiders do. They're either redundant or meaningless. But I've been in the South long enough to know what you're asking, it's fine."

”Fair enough. You know I’m not from here, I’m sure.”

“I know you’re not from Ferelden. I haven’t figured out where you are from yet, though. You look sort of Avvar. You sound like a Freemarcher dwarf. You move like a Ferelden, and you act like a Rivaini seer. You use magic like nothing I’ve ever seen - not more powerful, just  _ weird _ . You obviously have faith, but you’re not Andrastian. You worship more than one god, but you’re clearly not a ‘Vint or elf-blooded. You give yourself away as foreign with everything you do, but what you  _ really _ are, I haven’t figured out yet. So, you’re going to tell me?”

“I’m from a place called California, Bull. My core faith is called Vanatru. I serve the agricultural gods of Northern Europe, amongst others. Gods of love and fertility and beauty and magic. Life and death, and ecstasy and madness. Poetry and song, dream and nightmares.”

“Back up. What? ‘ _ Cali’  _ what’? ‘Your’ what? ‘Vanatruth’?” Bull replied, confused.

“California. Europe. Vanatru. I’m not from Thedas, Bull. I fell asleep in my world and I don’t remember anything clearly after that until I woke up in shackles here, but as best as I can tell, I came through the fade.”

Bull grunted, clearly disturbed. He muttered about weird shit before looking me in the eye again. “So you’re a spirit? Like Cole? No, Cole doesn’t have a past full of somewhere else like that. How’d you get here?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, and then looked up at his face, surprised. “Wait, you actually believe me?”

He crossed his arms and leaned back to look me over. “Well, you’re not lying about what you remember, anyway. You seem to have a pretty good grasp of reality and reason otherwise, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been messed with somehow. There are ways to break people’s minds.”   
  
“True, but I don’t think that’s it. I mean, I have my share of…” I waved a hand at my head, trying to remember an archaic term for ‘mood disorder’, “um… mental... stuff. I used to be a hallucinating sleepwalker for fuck’s sake. But that just means I know what hallucinations are like, and this is different. I’ve yet to meet anyone here who has the capacity to invent the world I know in the kind of detail I can remember, much less one who also has the magical capacity to plant a whole lifetime in my mind.”

“Doesn’t make it impossible,” he grunted. “Okay, so assuming you really _ are _ from that other place, what does that have to do with not letting anyone touch you?” Bull asked, dragging us back onto the original topic.

“Several things. First of all, where I come from, people like me are called ‘demisexual’. Sex for purely physical purposes just isn’t a thing for me. Sex is something I want because I love someone. If I have sex with someone I’m not already in love with, I’m very likely to fall in love with them, if it doesn’t just make me feel used. I don’t do casual.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ve met people like that. Always going back to the same Tamassran. Getting really affectionate with their friends, but never flirting with strangers. But I’ve seen you comment on new people being attractive, and you don’t touch your friends any more than you do anyone else, except to heal us.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know this might be hard for you to understand, Bull, but it’s actually possible to notice that someone is attractive and  _ not _ have any desire to fuck them.” I smirked for a moment, and then shook my head. “But that’s only part of the issue. The second problem is that I have a sensory processing disorder. You’ve probably noticed my reactions to loud sounds and stuff.”

He nodded. “I figured you went through some bad shit, like the rest of us. The explosion at the Conclave alone could have done it.”

“True, but no, I was actually born hypersensitive. It wasn’t as bad when I was a kid so I was hoping my younger body here would help more.”

“Younger body?” Bull frowned slightly, apparently disturbed by that idea in particular.  


“This body is what I looked like when I was in my early twenties, basically. Except the tattoo.”

“You have a tattoo?” Bull grinned, “How old are you, really?”   
  
I grinned back. “I’m forty. The tattoo is on my ankle. I wear sandals most of the year at home. There’s no snow there.”

“Ahh. I’d like to see it sometime.”

“Sure,” I agreed easily, before settling into a pensive silence.

“So,” Bull prompted after a few moments, “Sensitive to touch?”

“Oh, right. It’s just that I’m so easily bothered by touch these days, I don’t…” I closed my eyes, briefly, pursing my lips. “I  _ didn’t _ let people at home touch me very much at all, unless I trusted them a great deal. My partners took excellent care of me, so I wouldn’t end up like... well, like  _ this _ .”

“Partner _ s _ , plural?” That actually surprised Bull, which I wasn’t sure was possible without magic. “Humans don’t usually go in for that, I thought.”

“It’s more common than you might think, but in most human cultures, there’s the one official partner and everything else is affairs. But look at Vivienne’s relationship with her Duke and his Duchess. It’s like that. Of course, I haven’t seen any of…” my throat caught. I took a breath. “It’s been what, months?”

I paused and looked up at Bull with watery eyes. His eye was sympathetic. He was listening, just to listen.

I took another deep, shuddering breath. “I want to go  _ home _ , Bull.” Tears slid down my cheeks. “I miss my partners. I miss my family and friends. I miss my gods and my congregants. I miss my  _ life _ ! How can I get into a relationship here when I’m basically a Faerie bride, a... a Selkie just waiting to find her seal skin and dive away? Who can I afford to fall in love with? Who can afford to fall in love with  _ me _ ?”

“Damn, Boss. That’s a lot.” He looked me over, measuring his reply, and then offered. “Can I hug you now?”

I hesitated, and then nodded. Huge arms wrapped around me, and just held me there, kneeling in front of the fireplace, while I sobbed. I cry easily at home, but I haven't been letting myself cry like that since I got here. I know better than to try and hold it in for too long, but there's been too much going on, not enough privacy, constant crisis. I was surprised how good it felt.

“It’s okay, Ember,” Bull chanted quietly. “I have you. It’s okay.” He didn’t try to touch me anywhere else, didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t, didn’t try to make me stop crying. He just held me. I leaned my head on his shoulder, sniffling, and then took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“I cry a lot, sorry. I always have.” I leaned away to dig into a belt pouch for a kerchief to wipe my eyes and nose. I knew my face would be red and blotchy.

“I know,” he rumbled quietly. “That’s why I brought it up. I can hear you holding your breath to avoid sobbing in your tent at night when I’m on watch.”

“Oh, shit, Bull. Does everyone know?” I looked up, dismayed.

He nodded slowly. “Dorian knows. Varric knows. Cassandra knows because she shares your tent. Hell, Sera demanded I fix it,” he laughed.

I snorted.

“I assume Solas knows,” he continued, “but I haven’t asked. The kid probably knows too, considering.”

“Damn. That’s not good,” I winced.

Bull squeezed me gently. “They don’t all get  _ how _ far from home you are, but we all get that this is hard. There’s a lot on your shoulders, Boss. We just want to help.”

I sighed, hugging him again. “I know, and there’s no way I could have gotten along this far without you guys. I just hoped I was hiding it better.”

“We’re not the ones you need to hide it from. Speaking of hiding things, can I see your tattoo now?” He asked, pulling back to look at my face. He sounded kind of excited. 

“Sure,” I agreed, smiling. I unwrapped my arms from Bull’s torso and settled back onto my butt, to pull off my boots and socks, and roll up the legs of my leather trousers. I held my left leg out, toes pointed like a dancer, and rotated my knee so he could see the colorful vines wrapped around my ankle.

“Wow, that’s really detailed. What does it mean?” he asked.

“This vine is trailing blackberry, and this one is poison oak. They’re both native to my home. This symbol means Infinity. It represents the Whole that is Divine.”

Bull nodded, “Yeah, that’s an infinity symbol here too. The poison oak looks kinda like a type of rashvine we have in Seheron, but blackberries grow in bushes here, not vines.”

“We have blackberry bushes too, but they’re from a different area. Poison oak is a lot like rashvine, yeah. You have a lot of plants that look like the plants of my home, actually, especially in the Hinterlands. Those orange poppies? They’re all over the place where I grew up.”

“What do the other symbols mean?”

“Ah. Well, they all represent different groups of gods I’ve served over the years.” I explained the half-dozen or so symbols wrapped around my ankle and then turned my ankle again, and pointed to a more complex symbol on a blackberry leaf reaching down onto my instep. “And this design represents the group I run. I’m a priestess.”

“So this tattoo, it’s a religious thing? Do all your priestesses get them?”

“No. Devotional tattoos are pretty common, but they’re very personal, each unique to the artist and person getting them. There are other cultures in my world that have long traditions of tattoos, but they don’t apply to my community.”

“You sound like an _Ashkaari_ \- a scholar,” Bull grinned.

“I  _ am _ a scholar, Bull,” I agreed. “I study any religion I can get my hands on, to better understand and foster cooperation between diverse people.”

“That’s why you keep asking me about the Qun,” he observed.

“Exactly!” I grinned.

Bull looked me in the eye, still smiling. “Feeling better, Boss?”

I nodded, “Yeah, Bull, I am. Thank you.”

“Any time.” He opened his arms again, inviting me in. Assured that he was willing, but wouldn’t make it more than it was, I climbed into his lap like a kid making wishes of the Yulefather, put my head on his shoulder, and sighed happily.

\-----

“Hey Boss?” he spoke up, after a while of contented silence, “What are you even into?”

I huffed, sleepily. “Can you be more specific, Bull?”

“Like, for bedmates. What are you into? Men? Women? Elves? Dwarves? Tall and skinny? Curvy? Ripped? I’ve seen you flirt lightly with all kinds of different people, but nobody seriously, so it looks like you’re just being friendly.”

“Oh. I’m into  _ smart _ , Bull. And long hair.”

“Long hair, huh? Can’t help you there.”

I laughed, “That’s okay, Bull. Horns are cool too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, all right then.”

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm proud of my devotional tattoo. What?


	16. Imposing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember struggles with various desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratitude to UncleDark and Cowoline for help editing.
> 
> Gratitude to all you readers, for kudos, comments, and encouragement!

Bull and I returned downstairs after a couple hours, and I was considerably more relaxed. Wrung out, even. We got a few strange looks, and some inaccurately knowing smirks. Varric looked downright _intrigued_. I’d have to explain to him later.

First I went to Josephine, to ask her help with what might be a strange request.

“What can I do for you, Ember?” She asked, as I settled floppily into the chair nearest her desk.

I thought about how to frame my question, and then blurted out, “What kind of drums can we get, Josie?”

“Drums?” She was surprised. “I don’t know. There are many kinds of drums. I’m sure we could get you any kind you like. We have already acquired many barrel drums for your messaging system.”

I shook my head, “No, this isn’t an Inquisition thing, it’s just for me. Are there any djembes, or doumbeks? Er, that is, drums shaped like an hourglass, to be played for dancers.”

“I’ve never heard of a ‘jem-bay’, but doumbeks they have in Rivain, and we have similar, slightly larger wooden drums in Antiva called _tamboros_. I can look into it for you, certainly.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you Josie. Anything like that should work, if you can get one, but don’t push too hard about it.”

“May I ask why you want a drum? I did not know you played any instruments, though I have heard you sing of course.” She smiled sincerely. “You have a lovely voice.”

“Thank you. I am not very good at playing instruments, no, but I can manage some decent drumming. It has been a while, but Bull brought to my attention that I desperately need to relax, and since the alternatives he suggested won’t work for me here, I think I should get back into music.”

She smiled knowingly. “He suggested you take a lover, I imagine.”

“He did,” I smiled.

She giggled, “Did he offer himself?”

I laughed. “Not specifically. Maybe he would have if I’d seemed more interested. I know he’s pretty open about sex.”

She blinked, her lip twitching. Was she startled that I used the word “sex”? Too blunt? That’s what I get for relaxing.

True to her diplomatic training, she moved on quickly. “You do not wish to take a lover, then? That will, no doubt, please the faithful. But you should not be celibate purely for their sake.”

“Oh, it's not for their sake,” I assured her. “I just don’t think it would be fair to any lover I might take, when I may not be here for very long. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You fear for your life, then? Ember, you deserve happiness if you can find it, even briefly. No one who knows you would begrudge you that. Certainly not someone who loved you.” She sounded very earnest. Josephine is a romantic soul. She and Cassandra have more in common than they probably realize. I wonder if either of them like women? Well, they don’t need me matchmaking, I’m sure.

I smiled, “You’re so sweet, Josie. But I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, and I don’t want to abandon anyone like that.”

“Would it really be better for them to lose you after only loving you from afar?” She raised her eyebrows slightly, and leaned forward, obviously hinting at something, but I was at a loss as to what. Or, more likely, _who_.

I paused, startled, and maybe a little cowardly. I honestly hadn’t thought about it that way, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know who she had in mind. “I… maybe? It depends on how interdependent we become, I guess? I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“If you are honest about what you have to offer, I believe anyone you chose would be honored to have you for a lover, even briefly.”

I winced. I don’t want my bed on a pedestal, dammit. “It would have to be someone who can see me for who I am, as a peer.”

“Ah. That does narrow your options considerably, yes,” she agreed.

I sighed. “I’ll think about it. You may have a point. I just don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Your compassion is renowned across Thedas, Herald. Please do not forget to apply it to yourself,” she reminded me, sternly.

I snorted. Any renown I had was certainly her doing. Still, it was kind of her to say so. I sighed again. “ _Dead healers save no lives._ Point taken, Josie. Thank you.” I stood up to leave.

“I will see about the drum you requested. Dinner will be served soon. Enjoy your evening, Ember.”

I nodded absently, lost in thought, and drifted back to the main hall, to catch up with Varric. He and Sera all but control the rumor mill in Skyhold. They could help quash any rumors about me and the Iron Bull.

\-----

I went looking for Solas to begin Project Emberhugs. As the only person who had seemed at all willing to hug me other than Bull, it seemed like the logical place to start. Plus, I wasn’t sure what the others would think of it. Would I be imposing? Would they feel like they weren’t allowed to turn me down? What if they took it the wrong way? I was pretty sure Dorian wasn’t interested in women, but I wouldn’t want to hurt anybody else by leading them on.

I found Solas painting in the rotunda as usual. The last of the frescoes he sketched out when we arrived is almost done being colored, but only the first two are gilded. He works so fast!

I just stood there for a bit, admiring his work.

“Is there something I can help you with, Inquisitor?” Solas called down from the scaffold.

“Oh! Yeah, um, I was wondering if... I... could…” I winced, and took a deep breath, before blurting out, “have a hug?” 

He turned to look down at me, eyebrows raised. “A hug?”

“Yeah.” My eyes darted around the room, and my cheeks flushed. _Why had this seemed like a good idea?_

Solas began climbing down the ladder.

I cleared my throat. “It's just that the Iron Bull pointed out that nobody ever touches me around here except to attack, or in emergencies.” 

“I see.” He was standing in front of me, bits of paint on his hands, and one endearing smudge across his cheek. “And this made you think of me…?”

“You were the only one I could remember ever hugging me since I arrived. So, I thought you might not mind?”

His expression shifted from confusion to understanding, to wry amusement. “I suppose I do not mind, at that. But if is only ever me you embrace, people will talk.”

I snorted. “Not that I care if people talk, but I was going to ask a few others for the occasional hello or goodnight hug as well. But really, what are they gonna say? _‘Solas and Ember, sitting in a tree…’_?” I rolled my eyes.

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in that quizzical-canine way he has.

“ _‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G’_?” I finished. “It's a children’s rhyme.”

“Ah. I imagine they will be more eloquent, though not significantly more mature.” His wry smile returned.

“Yeah. Well, whatever,” I shrugged. “They'll talk no matter what I do.”

I held out my arms, eyebrows raised. He leaned in to hug me hesitantly, only to pull me in tight after a moment, humming quietly.

Looks like I'm not the only one starved for touch around here.

\-----

My boyfriend, Liam, stood in front of me. His arms reached forward, inviting me in, offering to hold me, and gods I miss him _so much_ , I almost accepted. But it wasn’t really Liam. It didn’t _taste_ right.

_I was dreaming._

I frowned. “You’re not him. Who are you?”

“What do you mean, sweetie? Who else would I be?” He looked confused, and slightly offended. That only proved the point.

 _My_ Liam would have said something like “That’s what they WANT you to think!” While smirking at me, waiting for me to laugh at his silliness, or try to explain what I meant in pedantic detail, or more likely, just glare at him in frustration before rolling my eyes.

No. It was too much. I hurt too much from missing him, from missing them all, to put up with lies.

“Tell me who you are!” I demanded.

The doppelgänger just frowned and crossed his arms. “Why are you being like this? Don’t you miss me?”

Oh, I miss him alright. I miss him, and my partners, and my family, and my gods. I miss them with every breath. But this was _not him_ , dammit. I felt fire flooding my skin, and ice settling behind my eyes.

I summoned my redwood staff, and planted it firmly in the ground before me, glaring at the impostor.

“ _Adalheide I hight, through worlds have I wandered,_ ” I intoned, “ _Seeking the spirit whom now I summon!_ _  
_  
_“By blood and bone,_  
 _By stock and stone,_  
 _By time and tide,_  
 _And waters wide,_  
 _By breath and breeze,_  
 _And fire that frees,_

_Come to my summoning!”_

The spirit’s arms fell to its sides, and it tilted its head back, gasping in pain. The form of my lover blurred away, leaving a muddled shadow behind, seeking a new form.

“ _Say then, spirit, ‘till said thou hast. Answer the asker ‘till all I know._ ”

The spirit keened in a higher voice.

“WHO ARE YOU?” I shouted, clamping down on my anger to keep my will focused.

“Desire!” it answered, struggling.

“What do you want?” I growled through clenched teeth.

“I want to... see through your eyes... feel with your skin.”

I narrowed my eyes, “And?” I demanded. “Is that all?”

“I was to make your body mine, leaving you to be claimed by another.” That didn’t sound good. Possession I understood, but what was this “claimed by another” business?

“Who do you serve?”

Desire struggled. I tightened my grip on my staff, and issued the command again.

“ _Say then, spirit, ‘till said thou hast. Answer the asker ‘till all I know!_ WHO DO YOU SERVE?”

The spirit screamed, a high wail. “Nightmare,” it snarled, “I serve the Nightmare!”

“Impressive,” a familiar voice spoke up from my left. I turned to look at Solas, raising an eyebrow. The spirit struggled again, and I clamped down on my will, still looking at the elven man who had apparently entered my dream at some point during this process.

“What will you do with this Desire now, Inquisitor?”

“Do you have a suggestion?” I asked, my voice low with tightly-held will.

“If you release it now, it will likely just return to its task again at the next opportunity, if not on you, then on another. If you command it to stop, it will likely return to Nightmare to report on your actions. The only logical choices I see are to bind it, or destroy it, actions you have said are anathema to you.”

“And what would you do?”

“I would release it from the other spirit’s binding, making it quite clear that attacking us again or returning to its former master is a path to destruction. I am not certain you have the power to remove that binding if its former master seeks to reclaim it, however.”

“But you do?”

“Perhaps.”

“Can you hold it while I still keep it compelled?”

“I can.”

I paused for a moment, thinking, and then returned my attention to the spirit.

“Desire, what will you do if I release you?”

The spirit hissed, “Return to Nightmare.”

“And if I compel you to do no further harm to me or anyone I know?”

“I will flee.”

“And what will you do, having fled?”

“I will...” it struggled to lie to me, pushing against the compulsion, and then spoke again, defeated, “I will seek another who will lend me their eyes, their skin.”

“It is its nature to do so, Inquisitor,” Solas reminded me.

“What is Desire’s better nature, Solas?”

“Love, Compassion, Curiosity…”

“Can this spirit be redeemed?”

Solas paused, considering, “Possibly. If you can remind it of its true purpose again.”

I wasn’t sure how to do that, but it seemed worthwhile to try. But experimenting on a spirit could seem cruel.

“Would it be merciful to redeem it, or cruel to experiment upon it?” I mused.

“Yes,” Solas replied, answering both questions in a word. Of course, whether it was cruel or merciful depended entirely on whether I succeeded. Magic requires intent, but intent alone is not magic. I would be responsible for the results regardless of the outcome.

For Love, though, it seemed a worthy risk.

“Solas, will you hold the spirit for me while I attempt to redeem it?”

“If you like.”

“Please.”

The elven man tilted his head slightly, and gestured with one hand. A glowing blue barrier appeared around the spirit. I relaxed my hold on the compulsion, and the spirit’s posture softened, as its appearance solidified into the form of a beautiful androgynous figure with lavender skin and curving horns. It smiled enticingly at me.

I shook my head, sharply. “Don’t start.”

It pouted.

I closed my eyes, finding my center, and then I thought better of it, and sat down on the earth, placing my staff in front of me. As Solas and Desire watched (I assume), I reached out to pull together a bubble of elemental energies, forming the sphere with my hands.

Once I had enough to work with, I turned my attention inward, and thought about Compassion, and Love. I thought about Freyja and Ayida Wedo, Ostara and Quan Yin. I let myself feel the overwhelming gratitude for the presence of the gods and people in my life, and awe at the beauty of the worlds. I let that feeling relax into a warm glow of love, caring, and wishing to _truly know_ everyone around me. I tasted the energy of that encompassing love.

Then I focused my attention on the ball of energy in my hand, shifting its flavor until it matched the taste of the Love in my mouth, in my mind, in my heart. I watched as the mottled elemental energies of the ball shifted into warmer golden and pink colors, like the setting sun on the cherry orchards of my home.

When I had done what I could, I got back up and walked up to where Solas had Desire contained, and I held up the ball for the spirit to see.

“Hear my words, Spirit, and know that I speak truly,” I intoned formally. “I offer this gift to you unconditionally. It will not bind you to me, nor I to you. If you would be free, of Nightmare, of compulsion, take it, make it part of you.”

Desire hesitated, watching me warily, eyeing the ball of energy hungrily, as though I had offered a feast to a starving child.

I released the ball, allowing it to float slowly towards the spirit, and it reached out to take it, yearning reflected in its posture. Solas let the barrier drop just as the ball reached the boundary. The spirit grasped the glowing sphere in triumph and I withdrew my will from the construct. Desire’s posture relaxed, expression ecstatic, as it pulled the ball apart, letting the energies I had gathered and tuned flow into itself.

For a moment, nothing happened, and I worried that my efforts had failed. But then the spirit tilted its head, opening its eyes to regard me calmly. Its form flickered and shifted into something more transparent. Gold and pink and lavender swirled in a bipedal shape, horns flowing out into something like hair.

Its voice shifted again, from the seductive alto to a more neutral lilt. “Thank you, _Adalheide_ ,” it replied, and then it faded away.

I waited for the moment to pass, and then exhaled suddenly. “Holy shit, I wasn’t sure that would work!”

“I’m surprised you attempted it, Inquisitor,” Solas replied.

“If it were _anything_ else, I wouldn’t have,” I admitted. “Turn Pride to Wisdom? Convert Despair into… I don’t even know what? I seriously doubt I could do that. But _Love_ I understand. I have spent my whole life in love. The gods I serve above all are gods of love. Cultivating compassion is a key purpose of my spiritual path. If I couldn’t make this work, there’s little chance I could help redeem any spirits at all.” I realized my voice had grown strident, and dropped my volume to a calmer tone, slightly embarrassed. “I had to try.”

“It seems you succeeded. I am not certain that was the method I would use, but your methods have always been... unique.” Solas’ tone was wry, the corner of his mouth upturned ever so slightly.

I grinned back at him. “Yeah, well, there have to be _some_ benefits to my otherworldly delusions, right?”

“You are clearly not delusional. I do not know how you came to this world, or how you can return to your own, but you are obviously not lying about your origins, or mistaken in your training.”

I blinked, raising my eyebrows. I had no idea what to do with that. I mean, of course I’m not delusional, but I wasn’t really expecting him to accept that. “I… wow, Solas, thank you. That’s very... validating.”

“You are quite welcome. And you should record your success here for future reference now, so _wake up_.”

I opened my eyes, disoriented briefly at the sudden transition, and came here to my desk to write all this down, before they bring me breakfast.

I can hardly believe that actually worked. What can we do with this? What would happen when it fails? What if the Desire demon simply mimicked it working because I _wanted_ it to work? Ooh! Or what if it was compelled to allow it because I wanted it?

I'm very curious but also very daunted. I'm not sure who to talk to about this other than Solas.

\-----

“Inquisitor. _Ember._ May I ask a question?” Solas called down from his place on the scaffolding where he sat, painting.

I looked around the room, admiring his work, and then up to him, “Sure, Solas. What’s up?”

He climbed down smoothly, and approached me with his hands behind his back.

“I was wondering if you would tell me what ‘ _Adel-haytha_ ’ means in your language.”

“It’s an older version of ‘Adelaide’. Literally, it means ‘bright noblewoman’. In the context I use it, it's more like ‘noble witch’. It’s one of my names.”

“And the spirit knew you by that name?”

“I’d used it before you arrived,” I clarified, “as part of the incantation to compel truth from the spirit. It had been trying to impersonate my lover, and refused to answer me when I demanded that it stop. I got angry.”

I paused, considering the inconsistency of my behavior. I _really hate_ being hypocritical. “I probably shouldn’t have done that,” I admitted, sighing. “I mean, it turned out okay, as far as I can tell, but I couldn’t have known that when I started. I was just so pissed at it for trying to fool me, for trying to get under my skin - literally!”

“Ah! I’d wondered why you so readily accepted its answers. It was obvious that you were controlling it, but unclear in what way.”

“Yeah, truth is the primary purpose of that compulsion charm. Containment was a side effect.”

“I see. Would you teach me the method you used just then?”

I shrugged, “Sure, I guess. The compel charm isn’t oathbound or anything, and it’s pretty easy to memorize the words. But I just made the conversion thing up on the fly from more general principles. You could probably find a better method in Elven or Tevinter lore, couldn’t you?”

“Perhaps not one so readily taught.”

“I’m not sure the method behind the charm will translate well, but the mages in our inner circle definitely understand what is necessary to make it work. I guess it can’t hurt to try.”

“Indeed."

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spirit summoning invocation is the Seer summoning invocation from Seidhjallr's Oracular Seidh ritual script, composed by Diana Paxson. The refrain is derived from the Elder Edda, though not a direct quote.
> 
> "Tamboros" is just Spanish for "drums", not a special kind of drum IRL as far as I know.
> 
> I'm using Spanish for Antivan, Italian for Modern Tevene, Latin for Ancient Tevene, and of course, French for Orlesian. I'll use a Scandinavian language for Avvar, if necessary, and I suppose I expect Ander is German or Swiss, maybe? Rivaini is probably Romanian or something, but I haven't needed it yet, which is good, because I don't know any. ;p
> 
> Meanwhile, Elvhen, Qunlat, and Dwarven have no real world cognates. For reasons.


	17. Peacocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian Pavus
> 
> And some other stuff.
> 
> But mostly Dorian Pavus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to slow down soon, or I'll run up against the "not ready yet" wall! (Don't worry, I have most of the story at least blocked out, and much of it chaptered - it WILL go through to the end, and probably several side stories, I just can't promise it'll go through without pauses, depending on how stuck I get on the gaps...)
> 
> Much thanks, as always, to UncleDark and Cowoline, for helping edit!

“You wish to hug me? Why me?” Dorian looked up from his favorite library chair. He didn't look opposed so much as cautious. “Aside from my general fabulousness, of course,” he allowed.

I laughed. “That's pretty much it, yeah. I need more hugs, and I figure if I ask several of my friends, the gossips won't eat any one of you alive.”

“Unless they decide you've suddenly become possessed by a desire demon,” he mused, smoothing his mustache.

“I didn't know abominations were known for their hugs,” I laughed again as Dorian stood up and draped an arm around my shoulders.

“One can never be too careful.”

“True.” I reached up to hold his hand at my shoulder and began walking us down the stairs, towards lunch. He came along without objection.

“Who else do you plan to ask?”

“The Iron Bull started it, and I already asked Solas. I'm thinking Varric and Josephine won't mind. Not sure who else. Cullen and Cassandra both probably need more hugs, but I suspect they'd turn fifteen shades of red if I asked.”

“I'm certain our handsome Commander would be delighted by your offer, once he stopped blushing,” Dorian laughed, as we entered the rotunda.

Solas huffed.

“Sorry for the noise!” I stage-whispered, covering Dorian’s mouth with my hand to muffle his laughter.

Solas shook his head, still focused on his painting.

“Somehow I doubt it was the sound of your voice he objected to, Ember!” Dorian laughed once we had escaped the rotunda.

I gave him a quizzical look, but he just laughed, shaking his head.

\-----

I finally tracked down Cole on the top floor of the tavern. His face brightened immediately when he saw me.

“You would like a hug!” he declared, holding out his arms.

“Er, yes, but if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to,” I assured him, nervously.

“I would like to try,” he offered. The resulting hug was a little awkward, but he settled into it, seeming to understand the point of it only after he’d tried it and sensed how it felt to me.

“So,” I asked him as I pulled away, “How are you doing? Is the Inquisition being okay for you?”

“I don't understand it,” he replied, eyes wide. “People talk like it's a person, but it's not even a thing...the 'Inquisition' isn't real unless it has something to make it real. It's like a spirit.”

I grinned. “The word you’re looking for is ‘ _ Egregore _ ’, the spirit of a group. And sure it’s real, but then, spirits are real too, aren’t you?”

“Am I? I wasn’t sure. Rhys remembered me, but Seeker Lambert proved I wasn’t real, and he left. But you found him, and he remembers, so maybe I am?”

“You’re real because  _ you _ remember, Cole,” I insisted.

He shrugged. “Lots of things remember that aren’t real.”

I shook my head. “Then they’re real too.”

His eyes grew wide. “Oh!”

\-----

Varric brought me the finished draft of the next  _ Swords and Shields _ this afternoon. We brought it to Cassandra, sitting at her usual spot near the smithy.

She saw who was with me and scowled suspiciously. “What have you done now?”

“Cassandra!” I admonished. I gestured for Varric to show her the book.

“A peace offering,” he offered. “The next chapter of  _ Swords and Shields _ . I hear you're a fan,” he smirked.

She looked up at me, accusing. “This is  _ your _ doing!”

I grinned, “Well, yes. You  _ did _ ask.”

Varric pulled the book away. “Well, if you're not interested, you're not interested.” He turned to walk away, muttering, “Still needs editing anyhow.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up, and she jumped up to stop him. “Wait!”

He laughed and turned back, to give her the manuscript. He had, of course, been bluffing just to get that reaction. She snatched the book out of his hand and hugged it to her chest.

“You’re probably wondering what happens to the Knight-Captain,” he began.

“Nothing should happen to her!” she objected, “She was falsely accused!”

“Well, you see…” he replied, slowly, teasing her.

“Don’t TELL me!” she objected, prompting laughter from both of us.

“Enjoy, Seeker,” Varric said, finally, shaking his head with amusement.

“I wonder if I have time to read the first part!” she mused, her eyes darting around hopefully.

“What, you aren’t going to just read it all in one go tonight instead of sleeping? You have more restraint than I do, Seeker,” I laughed.

She blushed and tilted her head in admission.

“This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor, Seeker.” Varric added. “I don't normally give sneak peeks after all.”

“Don’t thank me!” I exclaimed. “Varric did all the work.”

“Thank you, both!” she replied, insistently, and then sat back down and immediately dug into the book.

“Completely worth it,” Varric laughed, as we walked away.

“ _ Totally _ ,” I agreed, holding out my palm for him to slap.

\-----

Today I accompanied Dorian to the tavern in Redcliffe to meet with representatives from Tevinter, sent by his father. The Iron Bull and Seeker Cassandra came with us, just in case it was a trap. As it turned out, it was a ruse, yes, but not exactly a trap. Dorian’s father had come in person, to talk to his son. Dorian was not at all pleased. We’d left Bull and Cassandra outside to guard the doors, ready to rush in if anything went awry. I was surprised he asked me to enter with him instead of the Iron Bull. I thought they were close. But Tevinter and the Qun are in pretty constant conflict, so maybe he was just being circumspect?

I stood inside the dark inn, watching Dorian and his father glare at each other. Simply his father’s presence had made Dorian furious, and I was worried for him. Was his father abusive, then? What had he done?

“I prefer the company of men,” Dorian explained.

“Yeah. And... ?” Dorian tilted his head slightly at my lack of surprise, and then scowled at his father. I thought about it for a second, before guessing, “Ah. You’re an only child of a noble family, expected to produce an heir?”

“Exactly. He wanted to marry me off to a woman I would never love, who despised me. And when I refused he... he tried to _ change  _ me.”

My eye twitched. “Change you  _ how _ ?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to judge too quickly. Not that I could help it. Images of shock conversion therapy and brainwashing came immediately to mind. How much worse could it be when they had access to powerful magic? How much more  _ successful _ ? I waited for his answer, holding my breath.

“Blood magic! He’d always told me it was the last resort of a weak mind. But when his  _ precious  _ son wouldn’t toe the line, what did he turn to?” Dorian’s face was twisted in pain, his eyes threatening to overflow with tears. He closed his eyes against the memory, unable to continue.

I put a hand on his upper arm, to reassure him, remind him where and when he was. He took a deep, steadying breath and opened his eyes again, having regained a measure of control.

I turned to glare at his father. “What did you  _ do _ ?” I demanded, my voice low with fury.

Dorian grabbed my hand and squeezed, warningly. I bit my lip - not quite hard enough to bleed - to shut myself up, exhaling sharply through my nose, and clenching my fists. It was my turn to regain control.

“I only wanted what was best for my son!” the Magister objected.

“You wanted what was best for YOU!” Dorian spat back. “For your  _ fucking _ legacy!”

“If I’d known I would drive you away, to this Inquisition...”

“ _ You  _ didn’t! That has nothing to do with this. I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do!” Dorian shouted. Then he seemed to collapse in on himself, and muttered, “Once I had a father who would have understood that.” 

There was a long pause, as I looked Dorian over with concern, swallowing my own rage in favor of my friend’s need. He turned to leave, and I to follow. Then his father spoke up again.

“Once, I had a son who trusted me, a trust I betrayed. I only wanted to see him again, to hear his voice, to ask him…” We both turned to look at him, wary. “...to forgive me.” The older man finished, deflating.

Dorian’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes. 

“Dorian,” I stepped towards my friend, speaking quietly, and put my hands gently on his shoulders, “what do you need?”

He shook his head and shrugged, his face crumpled with confusion and pain.

I paused, not wanting to push him, but wanting to help somehow. “Well,” I started, hesitantly, “if it were me, I’d want to  _ know _ . But.. but you don’t have to! You never have to see him again if you don’t want to. We’ll protect you. We’re with you, whatever you decide, Dorian.”

Dorian sighed, and nodded. He raised his head, opened his eyes, and met my gaze with a determined expression. Then he stepped back into the room towards his father, squaring his shoulders. I nodded, keeping eye contact.

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him after what he’s done,” I murmured, “but this isn’t my conversation to hear. So I’m going to go sit in that far corner, okay? The Iron Bull and Cassandra are right outside. We won’t let him take you from us.”

Dorian nodded, silently. I moved to the far end of the room and sat in a chair, to watch, as the two settled down to a table at the other end of the long room. I didn’t expect to hear their conversation, but they made no attempt to prevent it.

The older man sighed, and began his litany. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, my son. My  _ only _ son. I was so  _ proud _ , you were... you  _ are _ ... so talented. You reminded me of myself, only better. You put me and your instructors all to shame. You could be twice the Magister I ever was. You could be Archon! I wanted that for you  _ so much _ , Dorian. I wanted that for  _ Tevinter _ . I couldn’t imagine that it wasn’t what you really wanted. I thought... I thought you were throwing your future away just to rebel against me. I didn’t want you to ruin your life.”

Dorian took a breath to object, but his father held his hand up, nodding in understanding, and continued, his voice thick with sorrow. “Instead, I ruined it for you. I’m so sorry, Dorian. I... I know I have no right to ask, but I want you to come home. I want... You are always welcome in my home. You are still my heir. I... I don’t know what more I can offer you.”

“I never asked you to offer me anything but your love, Father,” Dorian replied, quietly.

“I  _ do _ love you!” his father insisted.

“Do you?” he asked, “Or do you love the _ idea _ of me? What you thought I would be? The dutiful, ambitious son rising up out of Tevinter’s ashes to claim the throne and inaugurate a new golden era?”

“I…,” he started to object again, but saw his son’s expression, and shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“I’m never going to be anything other than what I am, Father. If you can’t accept that, then you have to let me go.”

“I have to let you go anyway, don’t I?” he snapped, bitter pride bleeding through his humility. I wasn’t sure if he was more angry with his son, the situation he found himself in, or himself for his horrendous choices. I could only hope the latter, but from what Dorian had told me of Tevinter, I really had no way to know if this apology was just another manipulation. “It’s your life, Dorian. I thought I knew how you should live it, but...”

“But you don’t,” Dorian frowned, his voice again firm. His own anger had returned.

“Please, Dorian, come home.”

“I  _ can’t _ , Father. What the Inquisition is doing affects the whole world, and it’s our people trying to destroy it! We can’t allow this! I  _ won’t _ allow it. They need me. They need everyone they can get. I have to see this through.  _ You taught me that. _ ”

“Will you come home when it’s done?”

The younger man sighed, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll return to Tevinter, at least,” he concluded.

“Your mother misses you. She... she isn’t speaking to me, hasn’t spoken to me since you left.”

Dorian smiled, sadly, a bit of his sardonic mask returning. “Sounds like an improvement, then. You usually try to tear the house down with just the sound of your voices.”

The magister looked down, wincing slightly. “Yes, well, your mother is a very strong-willed woman. There’s more of her in you than I’d realized.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment? It should be.”

“Yes, it should be.”

“Go home, Father.”

“Will you ever forgive me, Dorian?”

“Father,” Dorian sighed, clearly exhausted, “I... I don’t know. Not today. Maybe not ever.”

The other man nodded, resigned. “I’m sorry. I really am sorry. But I think, maybe, I understand. Please, at least write to your mother. She has no fault in any of this, and she is very worried for you. She... she told me I was wrong all along, but I refused to listen to her. I thought I knew better. She was right.”

Dorian frowned. “Why did she never tell  _ me _ any of this?”

“She didn’t want to come between us. She said a father and son had to work it out themselves.”

“So she just let it all happen? She _ knew _ ?” Dorian’s whispered, anguished.

“She...” He paused to consider the implications of Dorian’s question, and then closed his eyes, his face a mask of regret. “Yes, she knew.”

Dorian shook his head, his shoulders slumped. He put his face in his hands, and muttered, “Just go, Father.”

“Dorian...”

“GO!” Dorian shouted, suddenly rising from his chair, eyes bright, hands crackling with lightning as he pointed to the door.

The older man sat back, startled, and then exhaled in defeat, nodded, and got up to leave. He walked quietly to the exit, pausing when he reached the door to look back one last time. For a moment, it seemed like he might try to speak again, to have the last word. But he looked at Dorian’s furious face and sparking hands, and turned away, his shoulders slumping. He left us in silence.

I had risen when the two men had, prepared to intervene if Dorian was threatened, as if  _ I  _ had any chance of overpowering a Tevinter Magister. When the door closed behind his father, Dorian dropped his arm down, his chin falling to his chest, and took several deep breaths as I crossed the room to him.

I didn’t bother to ask if he was okay when he clearly wasn’t. I just held out my arms and waited. He started to shake his head, only to step forward into my offered arms, and lean down to put his forehead on my shoulder. I held him firmly, centering my energy, and grounding, encouraging him to do the same. After a handful of breaths, his breathing slowed, and he stepped back away from me. His usual mask of snarky arrogance wasn’t quite complete, but he was clearly reaching for it.

“Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming inside,” he finally spoke, dryly. I raised my eyebrows, smirking skeptically. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he apologized, more seriously. “What must you think of my people now?”

My smile was sympathetic. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of Tevinter, Dorian, but I think  _ you _ are amazing, and brilliant, and  _ incredibly _ brave. And I thank you for trusting me to be here with you.”

Dorian looked genuinely surprised to hear all that. For all that he announces his greatness to the world with every other breath, he clearly does not believe many of his own compliments, much less expect them from anyone else. It’s always easier to believe the put-downs. Pain shouts so much louder than joy. Fear so easily overshadows security. I wished I could wave a wand and fix it all for him, but even in this world of rifts and spirits and mages, it just doesn’t work that way.

“Let’s go home, Dorian.”

“Home....to Skyhold,” he echoed back, as if it were a revelation. “Yes, let’s go  _ home _ , Inquisitor.”

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bugs me that you leave him alone with the man who he'd *just said* tried to forcefully break his mind. There's no way I'd leave my friend unsupervised with his abuser like that. So EQ doesn't. There, fixed it.
> 
> Obviously I've used some of the canon text here. I try to only rehash canon conversations if I have something to add or change, but if I do rehash a canon conversation, I try to reference the unchanged parts as closely as possible, up to word-for-word.
> 
> -E-


	18. Transgression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Ember face a few challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longish.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my editors UncleDark and Cowoline.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my readers for kudos and comments!

My dreaming was fitful. I couldn't focus. Every time I tried to decide what to do with what was effectively spare time to myself, I just kept wandering back to memories of Solas. Solas teaching me another ice method. Solas painting his murals. Solas smirking at Dorian as they compared notes on ancient Tevinter and Elvhen magic. Solas giving Varric a literal run for his money at Wicked Grace or Diamondback. Solas patiently listening to Cole's empathic stream-of-consciousness. Solas being delighted that it wasn't at all easy to win at playing chess with Cullen.

Cullen...

I felt a tug, as the Commander's face came to mind. He looked anguished, and I heard distant cries of pain and fury.

_Cullen?!_

I followed the feeling, walking through woods, until I found a tall tower enveloped in fog, in the middle of a lake. It looked a little like the tower in Lake Calenhad, but darker, more ruined, and with strange growths coming out of it. Kinloch.

As I approached the tower, the screams grew more clearly audible. Some were screams of terror, whimpers of victims in pain. Others were screams of outrage, battle cries of mages and Templars alike. Yet others were monstrous screams of demons.

The doors to the tower were bolted shut from the inside, but there were windows on the some of the upper levels, so I pulled out my wings and flew to the second floor, and when those windows were barred, the third floor landing.

An urgent tenor cut through the other voices here and there:

"... faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world..."

A clatter, a grunt, silence.

"... The Light shall lead her safely..."

A high wail, a low rumbling beneath.

"... She should see fire and go towards Light...

Menacing laughter, lustful moans.

"... The Veil holds no uncertainty for her..."

Fear. Rage. Desire.

"... her beacon and her shield..."

Cullen.

I found him bound and trapped in a barrier circle, surrounded by demons and abominations, taunting him with threats and temptations. His eyes were clenched shut and he recited verses of the chant like a mantra to ward them off, to little effect.

I let my wings fold away and disappear as I looked around at the gathered demons and abominations. Most of them were thin, tasting like bitter water, without identity or purpose. They had indistinct faces, dressed in plate armor or robes without detail, but a few had very clear features. Here an armored figure tasting of Fear, there an elven man in circle robes tasting of Rage.

Closest to Cullen, taunting him with temptations, was a redheaded woman who reminded me of Hawke, but with long, flowing hair. She wore mage robes that hugged along her curves a little too smoothly to be real. Her head was tilted towards him, as she murmured enticingly. She reached through the barrier and caressed his face. Desire.

He flinched, opening his eyes.

"No," he whispered, firmly, teeth clenched. He looked up, saw me, and closed his eyes again, tighter than before. "No, no, _no_! Not both of them. I can't take both of them. Stop this! I will not give in!"

_Both of them?_

Desire spun around to look at me, her Hawke-like face twisting into a haughty, calculating expression.

"What's this?" the demon asked, tracing a finger along her bottom lip, "Another delectable mage?"

"It's been a while since anyone's called me 'delectable'," I smirked, "Desire, I presume?"

She nodded, smiling seductively, licking her lips. I had to admit, she was really very attractive. Fierce like Hawke, but more feminine. Where Hawke was all lithe, compact muscle, this woman was soft, smooth curves.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is there a particular reason you're taunting my Commander?"

"Oh, is this one yours?" she turned back to him, “Are you hers, love?” She reached for his face again.

" _Stop_ ," I interrupted her. It was an order, not a request.

Her hand stopped, inches from his face. Her eyes grew wide. "Who are you to stop me?" she snarled.

"Just your friendly neighborhood Inquisitor," I quipped, opening my left hand, and willing the anchor to crackle and spark. The demons around us growled, and it occurred to me that I was outnumbered. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea, but I couldn't afford to back down now.

"And yes, to answer your question, that one is mine. Leave him be." I released her with a snap, throwing her hand back from his face.

She hissed in pain, pulling her hand back into her chest. "But he dreams so _deliciously_ ," she pouted. The other demons were leaning on intimidation, but Desire, of course, was still working on beguilement.

I glanced over my shoulder, the demons and illusions around us were all focused on me now. Maybe that would give Cullen a reprieve?

I sighed in irritation. "Look, I can banish you, I can destroy you, or you can just leave of your own free will. Those are your options."

Behind me, I heard mocking laughter. "You? Destroy us? One little mage?"

I turned my head slightly, "Try one Dreamer, one Templar, one ancient Elvhen anchor, and several guardian spirits. Assuming Solas doesn't join us as soon as he realizes how irritated I am."

"I don't see any guardian spirits, _Dreamer_ ," Fear spat back, menace echoing from its helmet.

A wave of anxiety washed over me, and I took a deep breath, clenching my jaw. I closed my eyes only for the briefest moment - a reflexive response to resist a panic attack. Before I could open them again, I felt air rushing around me and a loud CLANG right beside my head. I jumped, opening my eyes, startled, to find Fear's sword grinding against the edge of Cullen's shield, inches above my head!

"Cullen!"

" _You will not have her_ !" he growled. The dream around us had shifted to the familiar broken stones and burning buildings of Haven. _Interesting._

Not entirely helpful, though.

"Fine!" I snapped, and held out my hands. Columns of fire lit underneath the three demons, leaving Cullen to fight illusory Venatori and Red Templars. Dammit, he was still caught up in his nightmares!

Fear snarled in its plate armor, and Desire wailed as her clothing caught fire, but the elven mage just cackled as Rage transformed into its typical fiery form, and came charging straight towards me.

I threw up an ice wall, but that just put out the columns of fire on the other two, and suddenly I was crowded in on all three sides.

"Cullen! Little help here!" I shouted, throwing up a barrier and ducking under Desire's claws. One snagged me in the side. “Ow, fuck!”

Cullen came roaring towards us, eyes glazed, slashing at Rage and Desire with practiced, forceful swings. His sword just swept straight through Rage's flames, and Desire danced away, laughing.

I took the opening to reach across to Cullen and pull him to me. Or rather, to pull myself across him, so that he stood between me and Fear, while I aimed ice attacks at Rage, but each of them just dissipated into the endless fire as it roared.

I could hear Cullen's chest rumbling as he recited verses from the Chant between panting breaths. His voice was strained with... ah. With _rage_ , and _fear_. No wonder nothing I was doing could help. We were in Cullen's mind, his nightmare! They were still feeding off him!

"Cullen! Do you trust me?" I shouted over my shoulder.

"Of course!" he shouted back, though I still wasn't sure if he knew it was really me.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever attacks were about to hit me in the back, as I spun around and grabbed Cullen with both hands, closed my eyes, and _pulled_.

He lost his footing and stumbled back into me, knocking us both over onto the mossy loam and sorrel of a redwood forest floor.

"What-" Cullen gasped, disoriented. He rolled off of me and turned to look me in the eye, suddenly lucid. "Inquisitor? Ember?"

"Commander Cullen," I gasped, still catching my breath.

"What are you doing here? Where are we?" he looked around warily.

"You were being attacked by several demons," I explained. "I couldn't defeat them while you were feeding them, so I pulled us out, into my dream. At least, that's what I tried to do."

His eyes widened as he looked down at me more carefully. “Maker’s breath! Are you alright?”

I moved to sit up, as Cullen scrambled to his feet to offer me a hand up. In the distance, wolves howled. Cullen readied his sword, warily, but I held out my hand.

"It’s okay. That should be Anselm, and his friend."

He gave me a dubious look. "Wolves?"

I nodded. "One of my guardians is a wolf, and there's another, white wolf that's been hanging around him since we left Haven."

"Ah. And the cat?" he pointed to my shoulder. Grey stripes appeared in my peripheral vision, and the air around us was filled with purring.

I smiled, "This is Ashes."

"Another guardian?"

"Yup. There should also be a Rabbit around here somewhere." I looked around at the ferns and sorrel.

The howls were getting closer, and I heard a growl somewhere behind Cullen. He spun around to meet the threat, to see two wolves, one white, one grey, herding the Desire demon towards us.

"Desire! So good of you to join us. Where are your lackeys?"

"Your wolves tore them apart," she snapped.

"And yet, here you are, intact," I regarded her steadily.

"I am not so easily destroyed. The white one said to let you decide my fate," she replied, suddenly standing up straighter and leaning in again. We were back to seduction, apparently. Well, it's not like Desire has a lot of tactical options, I guess.

"I didn't know the white wolf could speak. Huh, cool!" I leaned sideways to look at the white wolf's blue eyes, and grinned.

The wolf winked at me! I laughed, shaking my head, and returned my attention to Desire.

"Okay, so fine, there's three ways we can do this, and I'll let you choose what you, uh, desire."

She raised an eyebrow, smiling.

"I can destroy you. You know this. I'm guessing you don't like that option. You can go your way, never bothering me or mine again, staying as far away from Skyhold and anyone guarded by the Inquisition's eyes as you can..."

She pouted at that. "Or?"

"Or, I can try to help you."

She raised both eyebrows at that. "You want to _help_ me? How?"

"Inquisitor," Cullen warned me, but I held up a hand to silence him.

"A fellow Dreamer taught me that all spirits have an essential nature. Demons are that essence twisted against its purpose. I want to help you find that purpose again."

"Desire IS my purpose," she insisted. "I have followed this one for years. I could drink of him forever and never starve again!"

"Or you could return to your truth, and be satisfied within yourself," I argued, gently. "Your choice. You've still got two other options, after all. Obliteration, banishment, or redemption. Choose."

"Fine. Let’s see this help you so clearly _want_ to give.”

I smiled, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, while Cullen’s frown deepened. “Excellent! So the next question is, what exactly were you before you became this twisted Desire? Love? Compassion? Curiosity?”

“I don’t know what you mean, dear Inquisitor,” she replied, staring at me.

“You said you’ve followed him for years. What drew you to him?”

“Why, the perverted things he wanted to do to this one, of course,” she smiled, gesturing to her appearance.

“That’s a lie!” Cullen sputtered, drawing his sword again to point it at the demon. “I _never_ thought of those _things_ … until you… you...”

I held up a hand, “Peace, Cullen, let her speak.”

“But she’s lying!” he insisted, urgently, “She’ll make you think horrible things about me! Don’t listen to her!”

I turned to look at Cullen more fully. “Cullen, I am not easily shocked, so don’t worry what she’ll make me think of you. But you’re _certain_ she’s lying?”

He scowled angrily and nodded emphatically, raising the point of his sword higher.

“Fair enough,” I sighed, turning back to the demon.

“ _Adalheide I haight_ …” I began the incantation to compel truth from a spirit.

“Inquisitor, what are you doing?” Cullen tried to interrupt, but I ignored him, focusing on the demon. She wailed, throwing her head back, in some kind of ecstasy, the facade of the woman Cullen had known falling away to reveal a demon with exaggerated curves and curling horns. It looked like she was in pain, but perhaps enjoying it?

“ _Speak now, spirit, ‘til said thou hast, answer the asker ‘till all I know!_ What drew you to Cullen?”

“Ah! His… his eyes. He could not take his eyes off her. The flow of her hair, the curve of her hips, the light in her eyes!”

“Right, he thought she was attractive…”

“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” Cullen whispered behind me, voice strained with painful memories.

_Beauty!_

“Oh! Okay, I can work with that.”

I let my will drop away from compelling truth from Desire, and focused inward again. I imagined the most beautiful sights and sounds I could remember, visions that made my heart ache with joy, music that lifted my spirit. I let myself feel the irresistible draw of beauty, and the desire to know, to reach out, to _connect_ , that beauty imparts.

As I had before, I pulled together a ball of energy and then shifted its flavor to match what I felt, until it resonated with that sensation.

Then I held the ball out to Desire, who, much like Love had, regarded the object with undisguised hunger.

“Inquisitor… Ember, what are you doing?!” Cullen demanded.

“Spirit, I offer you beauty. May you take it into yourself, and return to your true purpose.”

As I let the ball go, Desire lunged forward to catch it, as if she feared it would be swallowed by the earth if she failed. The moment her claws grasped the orb, it came apart in her hands. We watched as it surrounded her body, sinking into her skin until she glowed with scintillating light that slowly shifted like a jewel held up to the sun.

“Truly, you are Beautiful, spirit,” I observed.

“Thank you, Adalheide,” Beauty replied. Their voice was layered like a choir singing hymns of reverence.

“You are welcome, Beauty,” I nodded.

“What would you have of me?” the spirit asked.

“Have of you? I ask nothing,” I replied, confused.

“I owe you a boon. What would you have of me?”

“If anything, you owe Cullen, not me,” I disagreed. “Could you maybe-”

“I want nothing more to do with that _thing_ ,” Cullen interrupted.

I raised my hands briefly. “Right! Fair enough. So, what we really need is a guardian spirit who can keep an eye on the dreams of those within Skyhold and chase the demons away from them. That doesn’t really sound like a job for Beauty, though.”

“I can stop anyone who would steal the beauty from their dreams,” the spirit suggested.

“That might work. If you have any good friends who like guarding things and don’t want to eat people, that might help, too. Just introduce them to me, Solas, or Cole first, please?”

“I do not know those names.”

“Ah, well, I’ll try to find and introduce them to you, then.”

“Very well. I will do this in exchange for what you have given me, Adalheide.”

“Is there anything you need in order to enable you to do this job?”

“I require beauty.”

“I will make sure there is beauty in Skyhold, for you to thrive from. Thank you, Beauty, you may go now.” I nodded, and gestured, sending the spirit away from my dream. Anselm and the other wolf both nodded and loped away.

“Don’t go far!” I shouted after them, “I still need to sort out what to call you!” I wasn’t sure they heard me, though.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen demanded, “did you seriously just invite that _creature_ to stay in Skyhold with us?!” 

“Yes, to help guard us against other, less pleasant spirits,” I explained, as patiently as I could. Was it not obvious what I’d just done?

“But it lied! It’s probably lying now! Demons can look any way they wish! You can’t-” and then he disappeared, suddenly.

I frowned at the abrupt shift. He was probably just waking up in his own room. Would he remember all this? Would he believe it if he did?

I shrugged. There wasn't much I could do about it from here, and I still had spirit work to do.

“Anselm!” I shouted, “Where’s your friend? We need to get a name sorted!”

“Anselm is alone now,” Ashes quietly replied.

“Well damn,” I muttered.

\-----

I came across three Templars torturing a mage in the dungeons today. I demanded they stop what they were doing. At first, one of them balked, but the other two, a familiar human man and a younger elven woman I didn’t know, recognized me and made him stop.

It was Mattrin I recognized. Lysette’s friend. I suppose I should not have been surprised, given his attitudes, that he would be assigned to a task like this. And a task it was. They explained to me calmly that they were following standing orders to examine any mage suspected of being an “abomination”, using suppression and torture techniques to coerce the alleged demon into exposing itself.

They explained that the standing order had come from Commander Cullen and that they held no personal animosity towards the mage. But Cullen had not specifically ordered this particular interrogation. They assured me that it had not come up very often since they’d joined the Inquisition - maybe once or twice before, both times confirmed, and reported.

I asked the mage his name. “Davin,” he said, still breathing heavily through obvious pain. He was from the Ferelden circle. He was human, very tall and slender, with short, sandy hair, very pale lightly freckled skin, and vaguely British features (which I guess correlates to Ferelden here), but his eyes were a striking icy grey color. He was covered in bruises, and bleeding, but his cuts were only shallow. It was clearly meant to cause him pain, without lasting damage. If I weren’t so appalled I’d have quipped something about forgetting a safeword.

I asked permission to touch him, to heal him, and he agreed, relieved.

Then I turned to the three Templars, demanding their names. Mattrin, of course, and Jared and Falana. I ordered them to get Davin cleaned up and fed. They objected, but I held up my hand.

“If you must keep him in a cell and his magic suppressed until he is cleared of suspicion, I understand, but you will make sure he is reasonably comfortable and safe within the bounds of those requirements, and you will not torture him again. I will take the matter up with Commander Cullen.” I turned to leave, satisfied for the moment.

As I walked away, I heard the younger fellow - the one who didn’t recognize me at first - muttering. Someone elbowed him to silence, with a dull clank, but not before I heard his complaint. _“We were just following orders.”_

I stopped and turned, growling, low in my throat. The young woman turned to look at me, alarmed, to see me glaring at her companion. “Inquisitor?”

I shook my head, taking a deep breath to regain my temper. “I know you were just following orders, believe me. If you weren’t, you’d be locked in those cells yourself right now. But following orders is always a choice, and following immoral orders is still a choice to behave immorally. Short of being directly compelled by mind control, you are _always_ responsible for your own actions. _Is that clear_?”

“Yes, Inquisitor!” the elven woman replied immediately. The other two nodded more slowly, frowning. There’s a reason I never joined the military back home, and it was staring me right in the face. Loaded choices are hard enough without weighing them down in the wrong direction with consequences for failure to obey dubious orders. I glared at each of the two men, and then the woman, and nodded sharply.

Then I strode right up the stairs, across the courtyard, up onto the ramparts, and straight into Cullen’s office. Blessedly, he was alone, just working on his endless reports, with his head in one hand. He looked exhausted, as usual. He stood up as I walked in, and smiled, then frowned with concern when he saw my face.

“Commander,” I opened, my voice stern, “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. I am at your disposal. Is something wrong?”

“Yes, but it seems it’s nothing new. Perhaps we should go find Seeker Pentaghast as well.”

He raised his eyebrows at my using Cassandra’s title even though we were alone.

“It’s that serious?”

“You tell me. It involves the condoning of systematic torture. I’d say that’s pretty serious.”

His frown deepened. “This is about the mages, I assume?”

“This is about three of your Templars taking a mage into the dungeons, suppressing his magic, and torturing him in an effort to prove to their satisfaction that he was or was not possessed. They told me they had standing orders.”

“That is standard procedure, yes. It is a reliable, time-tested method. I don’t like it any more than you do, Inquisitor, but the fact of the matter is, it works.”

“ _It works_ ,” I replied flatly. “Let me guess. More than any other method you’ve found, a demon emerges if you torture a suppressed mage, yes?”

“Precisely.”

“Has it occurred to you that trauma is a major precursor of possession trance? This method is indeed an incredibly reliable mechanism for _causing the problem_ it’s meant to detect! You are rendering innocent mages guilty by your very methods, methods which are themselves unethical at their very core!”

“But it’s the only method we have!” he sounded... distressed? I’d struck a nerve beyond his professional pride, clearly. Granted, this was probably the first time I ever raised my voice to him. “We can’t just allow abominations to run free,” he continued, looking around as if I’d brought an entourage. “Even contained within the circles, the consequences can be... you can’t _imagine_.” His face grew haunted. Oh dear...

“Cullen,” I continued more gently, “I’m not suggesting that we allow demonic possession. That would be at least as cruel to the mages as this is, much less everyone else. But there _has_ to be a better way to test them without creating more problems than we solve.”

He shook his head, twitchily, staring blankly across the room. His breathing was labored, too fast. His hands were clenched at his side. I couldn’t tell if he was struggling to regain control of a panic attack, or if he’d already lost.

“Cullen?” I prompted. He looked up at me, met my eyes, but wasn’t really seeing me. He’d already lost. That was surprising. He always seemed so in control. I'd seen some of what he went through in his dream, but I’d never seen him like this before. Shit, I really fucked this up, didn’t I?

“Hold on, Cullen, I will be right back.” I walked to the side door, and beckoned to the nearest guard. “I need Seeker Pentaghast and a pitcher of water immediately,” I ordered, my voice urgent. She nodded smartly and began trotting across the parapets.

I moved around the room, closing the doors for privacy, glancing back to Cullen, and hoping I wasn’t just making him feel more trapped. He’d sat back down in his desk chair, with his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands.

I walked over to him, slowly, making sure he could hear me coming.

“It’s not real, it’s not real,” he was chanting to himself, quietly. Flashbacks. Fuck. Cullen was a well-trained warrior, and a Templar. I wasn’t sure I could intervene without getting injured, but I felt obliged to try.

“Cullen,” I spoke in a low, even tone, “talk to me. Where are you?”

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled.

“I’m not leaving you alone like this, Cullen, I’m here to help.”

“Begone, demon!” he ordered, not looking up.

I winced in sympathy. “Cullen, there are no demons here, only me. You are safe now.” I reached out to take his hands in mine, but he jerked them away, his breathing harsh. At least he hadn’t taken a swing at me. I knelt down, so that I was level with him across the desk, trying to meet his eyes.

He began reciting verses from the Chant of Light.

_“Blessed are they who stand before_  
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._  
_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._  
_In their blood the Maker's will is written.”_

It wasn’t a bad idea, but he wasn’t using it to control his breathing, or center himself. He seemed to be trying to use it to push demons away. Only his voice was rushed, and he occasionally lost his place, starting over at the beginning, or stumbling in the middle of a line. I wished I knew the Chant. Maybe reciting some of it to him would help draw him back out?

“Cullen, it’s me, Ember, your friend. The Inquisitor, remember?”

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s voice was still distant, lost. I couldn’t tell if he was asking if it really was me, or if he was confused as to what the word meant.

“Where are you right now, Cullen? Tell me where you are now.”

“Stone walls...there’s always stone walls. In the tower, in the gallows...”

“You’re in your office in Skyhold,” I corrected him, “It’s okay, Cullen. You’re having a flashback. Just tell me where and who you are _right now_.”

I reached out a hand to heal him, hoping to help him calm down. The moment the aura of the spell reach his skin, Cullen pushed his hand out suddenly, white light bursting forward. I was thrown back off of my knees, and slammed against the door behind me. The wind was knocked out of me, but it felt like more than breath. I was dizzy, and suddenly sleepy, barely able to focus. I shook my head and grounded myself, trying to pull in my will to heal myself, but it was like trying to grasp water with bare fingers - nothing came.

Cullen had purged my mana, I realized. Of course. What was I thinking, trying to heal a Templar-trained veteran?

I got back to my feet, warily approaching him again. He was more than strong enough to overwhelm me physically, and had more than one way to suppress my magic. My voice was all I had left to help him. Thank the gods I had plenty of vocal training, but could I entrance someone with my voice alone?

Suddenly, I wished I’d taken the time to learn that hymn Mother Giselle had everyone singing after Haven. I knew songs for ending trance rituals, but they referenced foreign gods, which I was sure would just make things worse.

Simply talking would have to suffice.

“Say it with me,” I began again. “You are Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition. We are sitting in your office in Skyhold keep, in the Frostback mountains. You are safe, with friends. Repeat it with me.”

I kept chanting his name, and current status with him, assuring him that he was safe, and watching carefully as his breathing slowed. We were still like that when Cassandra entered, followed by one of the kitchen staff with a pitcher of water and a few cups. Cassandra took the pitcher and cups from the other woman, and sent her away, locking the doors. She filled one of the cups, and set it on the desk between us.

“ _Commander Rutherford_ ,” she spoke, finally, her tone firm, as though his name was an order. He looked up at her, sharply, his gaze snapping into place. Finally he shook himself, and then turned to nod at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, almost whispering. I was overwhelmed with guilt, and still a little dizzy from the purge, though my mana had all but returned.

“I... yes, Inquisitor. I am alright now. I’m sorry. I haven’t...” he took a deep breath and exhaled noisily, looking to Cassandra. “It hasn’t been that bad in quite a while, but I haven’t been sleeping very well the last few nights.”

Cassandra looked him over carefully, taking a moment to study his eyes. “How are the headaches, Commander?”

“Worse. The tincture they’ve been giving me doesn’t seem to work anymore. I could take a sleep draught, but it makes me so groggy, it interferes with my work.” He turned back to me, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“No, Cullen, don’t be. It was careless of me to barge in like that with such a sensitive subject. I should have known it could trigger you. I’m so sorry.” I took up the cup of water and offered it to him, as if in apology.

He took it, shaking his head. “It is not your responsibility to protect me from my job, Inquisitor. I... I only wish I could assure you that it will never happen again.” He frowned, wavering between concern and shame.

“It would hardly hurt my job to learn some damned tact, eh?” I replied wryly. I suppose it was a bit too soon to hope for a chuckle out of him.

He and Cassandra were just staring at each other, his expression worried, hers steady. After a moment, she shook her head at him, smiling slightly. “You worry too much, Commander.”

“But it’s getting worse, Seeker. If this should happen at a critical moment --”

“It won’t,” she interrupted. “The reason you are struggling now is that you have had fewer emergencies holding your focus since we have settled into Skyhold. You simply ran out of convenient distractions.”

“Shark mode!” I blurted out, perhaps a bit too cheerfully. I had dropped into humor to fend off my own anxiety now that the immediate crisis was past. Typical. _What was that about tact?_

“Shark what?” Cullen’s worried expression gave way to sheer confusion.

“That thing where you just keep moving and moving because you know once you stop you’ll fall apart? Liam called it ‘shark mode’,” I explained. “Supposedly, sharks have to swim constantly for their gills to work, or they can’t breathe.”

“Ah. Yes, well, I suppose I have been using my work to keep myself focused. Apparently I’ve been doing it a bit too much.” He sounded much more stable, if chagrined.

“Shit, after everything that’s been going on, much less what you’ve been through personally, I can hardly blame you! But it sounds like you’re afraid if you take a short break, you’ll need a long one?”

“Something like that,” he agreed.

“Perhaps if you took breaks as you required them, you would not be under so much strain in the first place, Commander,” Cassandra admonished.

“As if you’re one to talk, Seeker.” Cullen’s customary sarcasm was finally returning, along with the color to his face.

“We could all use a better break schedule, I’m sure,” I mused. “Maybe Josephine can help us sort out a sane way to arrange it?”

“It’s a thought,” Cassandra nodded.

Cullen groaned. “Maker’s breath, don’t give her more reasons to meddle!”

“Erm,” I bit my lip. “So... now that I actually have you both here, can we maybe schedule an appointment for later today or early tomorrow? I don’t think the issue I was trying to bring to Cullen’s attention can wait indefinitely, but I think we should probably give it a rest for the moment, maybe eat or something.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cassandra agreed, “should we meet before dinner hour?”

“Or perhaps for dinner itself?” Cullen suggested with a smile.

“As much as I’d love to have dinner with you both, are you sure it won’t be a problem for you? I don’t want to interfere with your digestion, too...” I replied, my stomach churning with guilt.

“Maker forbid!” Cullen laughed, “Now who worries too much? I’ll be fine, Inquisitor. Now that I know the subject, I can come to the conversation prepared.”

“Fair enough. Dinner it is then. Meet in my quarters? We can speak freely there.”

“Excellent,” Cullen agreed.

“Now that we are all agreed, what is the meeting _about_?” Cassandra replied, irritated.

“Right, sorry. I’ll explain on our way back to the hall,” I said, turning to leave. “Er, that is, if you’re good here, Commander?”

He smiled, “I’m fine, thank you.” He didn’t look fine by any stretch, but he did seem to have regained control. I didn’t want to push him, but I wished he would take a nap or something, but no. “I have these reports to finish reading, so I would appreciate having my office back now.”

“Right! See you at dinner!” I nodded, slightly embarrassed, and still very worried.

Cassandra followed me back to the rotunda as Cullen moved to unlock the other doors. I explained what I had seen in the dungeon, the order I had given, and that I wanted to discuss the possibility of better methods. She agreed that it was a good idea, and long overdue, but warned me that there may well not actually be better methods.

“We have, after all, been using that method for hundreds of years without improving upon it,” she reminded me.

“Granted, but a lot has changed recently. Let me do a bit of research, and I’ll bring what I can to dinner. If nothing else, I’m definitely a fresh perspective, right?”

“You certainly provide a unique perspective, Inquisitor,” she agreed, chuckling. “I look forward to hearing your suggestions.”  
\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry in this chapter is all canonical Chant of Light stuff.
> 
> The assertions about how possession trance works relative to trauma are based on my real life experience and research. ;)


	19. Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember digs into a new project, with a little help from her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have to slow down on the posting of chapters soon, if I want to keep enough space between the leading edge and the nearest unwritten gap!
> 
> But I get all excited to post the next chapter, just to see if y'all like it, so I might not actually *succeed* at that plan...
> 
> Gratitude, as always, to UncleDark and Cowoline, for making my writing better.

I went around to our other magical experts, asking their input.

I found my favorite fade nerd at his desk in the rotunda, reading a book in an unfamiliar script. “Solas, how would you go about testing if someone is possessed?”

He tilted his head, looking to one side away from his book, without looking up at me, considering my question. “I would check on them in the fade, of course. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, sitting down on the small couch against the wall, and leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Just research. I’m trying to understand how things are different here. Where I come from, the assumption is that you are not possessed unless extraordinary evidence can demonstrate that you are. Less extraordinary evidence is required if there is specific context for the question, but I don’t know any examples where possession is presumed unless given evidence to the contrary. I’m frankly not sure how you would go about proving someone _isn’t_ possessed.”

He turned to face me. “If I enter the fade to see them and there are no spirits close to them, they cannot be possessed. If there are spirits near them, it is a matter of determining if any of those spirits is entwined with them. If the spirits are easily sent away, clearly none were entwined. If it is difficult, there may be a problem, but then the problem can be resolved by sending the spirit away more forcefully, so the point is moot.”

“How can you tell that my guardians aren't possessing me, then?”

“Your dreams are your own domain, not theirs.”

“Oh! That makes sense. But how would someone tell all that if they aren’t a Dreamer?”

“Ahh, that is more difficult. There are spells, I’m told, which require considerable power. As I have never needed them, I can not tell you what those spells entail. Perhaps one of the Enchanters can tell you.”

“Thank you Solas!”

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he nodded.

\-----

“I have heard that there is a method to detect possession by tasting the blood,” Dorian mused, looking up from his chair in the alcove of the library, “but you might need to be practiced in blood magic to use it, which wouldn’t go over well here in the South, of course.”

“Well, no, but if we understood the theory behind it, maybe there’s an alternative? Plus, it sounds like the Templars aren’t opposed to very careful use of blood magic in limited contexts. Phylacteries are blood magic, right?”

“I believe the claim is that the magic itself is not powered by the blood, it simply acts on the blood. A convenient distinction, wouldn’t you say?” he replied, amused as always.

“Of course,” I deadpanned. “But then, the same could be said of simply tasting the blood, yes? If the discipline of detecting it can be taught without having to practice other forms of blood magic, anyway. It’s worth learning the theory, at least. Thank you, Dorian.”

“If you like, I could look into the subject further.” He stood up to glance around for the appropriate bookshelf. “You have me curious now.”

“By all means. You are an excellent researcher, after all, I would be foolish to turn down the offer!” I grinned.

“Well, obviously,” he agreed, “but you might have some better use for me.”

“I didn’t think I was your type, Dorian?” I raised a brow.

“And you are absolutely devastated, of course.” he laughed, “Now shoo, and let me prove my superiority in all things research.”

“Inquisitor, if I may have a word,” Leliana called to me from above as I headed for the library exit. I looked up to her, unsurprised that she knew I was there, but slightly surprised she wanted my attention.

“Of course,” I called up, and turned to walk up to the rookery, to where she stood waiting for me near the top of the stairs.

“I overheard your queries to Solas and Dorian. Perhaps I can answer part of your question.”

“Please!”

“You know I was a companion to the Hero of Ferelden during the fifth blight, yes? Of course. And you have heard of the boy, Connor, the son of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe?”

“We met him when we recruited the mages, yes. And...” I winced, “we saw him in the broken future as well. He killed himself there.”

“He should be in our mage tower now. You could ask him about this yourself if you really wish to know. But if you do, go gently. It won’t be a pleasant memory for him.”

“What happened?”

“You know part of the story, at least. When we came to Redcliffe, we found the town under siege by walking corpses, like you saw in the Fallow Mire. After helping the villagers defend themselves, we found the cause. Connor was possessed by a desire demon in an effort to save his father’s life. Bann Teagan - he is the Arl now - showed us the passage into the castle that my agents used when you went to meet Magister Alexius.”

“So that’s how you knew of it!”

“Yes. We destroyed the rest of the corpses, and helped Teagan regain control. Connor was obviously possessed, but sometimes he seemed to break through, and his body was not yet distorted. The maleficar who had started it all told us that there was a spell that would allow someone to go into the boy’s mind, find the demon, and destroy it, thus freeing the boy. He offered to perform it for us, to atone. But it would have required the sacrifice of someone else’s life to do it. Connor’s mother, Arlessa Isolde was willing to die for her child, but Kaigan was able to acquire help from the Circle of Magi instead. They performed the same spell with several mages, and a great deal of lyrium, instead of one mage and a blood sacrifice. And we succeeded. Connor was freed and has resisted possession ever since.”

My eyes widened with alarm. “That’s a stark indicator of the difference in power between more mages, more lyrium, or more blood.”

“You can see why so many are wary of it.”

“Wow, yeah. Normally I would say that the morality of a tool is in its use, but I can see why it’s all too easy to use blood magic for harm, if it’s that powerful.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Thank you, Sister. This was... enlightening.”

She nodded, smiling.

“I will be discussing the matter over dinner with Seeker Cassandra and Commander Cullen. You’re welcome to join us if you are interested.”

“Thank you, but no. I have other things to attend. I’m sure you will inform me how it went, yes?”

“I don’t know that there will be any conclusions this evening, but we’ll keep you in the loop, of course.”

She nodded again, and returned to her ravens.

\-----

I went to the tavern, seeking our resident spirit of compassion. I found him sitting on the second floor with his legs under the railing, watching the people below with his head on his arms.

I knelt down to talk to him. “Cole?"

His didn’t look up immediately. “ _He said ‘As you wish’. He really meant ‘I love you’._ ”

I blinked. “Did you get that out of my head?”

“It speaks for itself. _The author says he isn’t_.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, that’s... accurate.” I shook my head, clearing the confusion. “Right! So can I ask you a question?”

He finally looked up. “You do.”

“‘May’, not ‘can’,” I corrected myself, “Sorry. So, um, Cole, how do you know if someone is possessed? Can you tell?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“There are two where there should be one.”

“Right, but HOW can you tell?” I bit back my frustration - not that he couldn’t tell anyway.

He looked confused. “How can you tell when there’s one?”

“Usually we can _see_ them with our eyes and such.”

“You can’t see two?”

“Most can’t, no, that’s the problem. But I’m more wondering… how can you be sure someone _isn’t_ possessed?”

“They are alone where they should be,” he replied, as though it should be obvious.

“You can just tell, then?” I pressed.

“Yes?”

I nibbled on my lower lip, thinking, and then sat the rest of the way down on the floor, cross-legged so the people below wouldn’t suddenly notice our dangling legs.

“Cole, do you think you could teach someone else how?”

“Maybe. Who?”

“Me? Dorian? Cullen? Cassandra? Varric?” I rattled off an intentionally diverse list.

“Yes. Maybe. Not anymore. Maybe. No.”

“Fair enough. Why yes to me?”

“You are more like me.”

“Because I’m a Dreamer?”

“Maybe?”

“Right. So, can you come with me, please? I could use your help with something.”

“I want to help!”

“I know you do, Cole.” I pulled myself to my feet and then offered a hand down to the boy. “Let’s go.”

\-----

I brought Cole with me down to the cells, to talk to Davin. They had put runed cuffs on his wrists, I assume to suppress his magic.  We chatted amiably. He confirmed that they had not hurt him again, that he was reasonably comfortable, warm, and fed, and that they let him have a book to read. After a few minutes, Cole looked to me, frowning.

“He’s not alone, but it’s okay, they’re friends.”

“What’s his friend like?”

“It doesn’t want to hurt him.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s good for him, much less the rest of us, Cole.”

“It knew his mother. She wanted him Protected.”

“Protection?”

“Yes?”

“Interesting. Thank you, Davin. We need you to stay here a while longer. There are some things we need to sort out. Please have patience.”

He smiled at me, sheepishly. “Don’t worry about me, Inquisitor. It’s not as bad here as it was sometimes in the Circle. I know you won’t let them hurt me anymore.”

“I won’t condone them torturing you,” I agreed, “but if you _are_ possessed by a demon and we can’t fix it, even I can’t protect you from the consequences. I can only promise to be merciful in their... performance.”

“I understand, Inquisitor. I am not possessed by a demon, I swear.”

“We will do what we can to confirm or deny your claim. I don’t want to drag it out, but at the same time, how we handle your case may set new precedent for future cases. If you are willing to be patient with us, you may help your fellow mages more than you ever could any other way.”

He nodded, smiling broadly this time. “That’s worth waiting for.”

\-----

I all but ran back to the rotunda, pausing to breathe before asking, “Solas, are there spirits of Protection?”

He set his book down again, clearly amused. “Certainly. They tend to hover near places where the vulnerable are gathered, such as yards where children play. Why do you ask?”

“I had Cole look at a mage being held for suspicion of demonic possession. Cole said he’s not alone, but that it’s friendly, the result of his mother’s wish for him to be protected. I took that to mean he’s possessed by a spirit of Protection, but I wasn’t sure if that made sense.”

“Ah. Yes, a mother’s wish can be a powerful thing, especially if she, too, was a mage.”

I walked across the room and flopped down on his sofa. Solas moved to join me, sitting with his elbows on his knees.

I leaned my head on the stone wall, my focus internal. “I don’t know what kind of precedent they have here for positive possession. In my view, the protection of a benevolent spirit is desirable, because it helps prevent involuntary or negative possession.”

“Provided the protecting spirit does not itself become corrupted, yes.”

“What could Protection be corrupted into?” I lifted my head, brows furrowed.

He tilted his head. “Something coercive, perhaps? Wrath? Denial?”

“Right. Hmm. Well, it’s progress anyway,” I sighed.

\-----

Cassandra and Cullen arrived a few minutes early for dinner in my quarters. Josephine had kindly arranged for a simple, hearty meal from our stores when I told her our plans. I could have wished for vegetables, but I was told we were temporarily out of fresh greens. It’s certainly more important that everyone get at least some food than that Skyhold be supplied with every kind of food I can imagine. I do have some ideas for turning more areas of Skyhold into growing tiers for herbs and simple greens. I should bring it up to her later.

I brought the Seeker and former-Templar up to date on what I’d seen of Davin’s situation, leaving out Cole’s diagnosis for the moment. I explained why I was bothered by the methods used before, and what theory I’d been able to gather in just an afternoon with the Inquisition’s unique resources.

“I haven’t even spoken with Fiona, Vivienne, or Connor yet!” I continued enthusiastically, “Dorian has taken up researching what he can find in our libraries. Cole has agreed to teach me, if possible, how he can see how many spirits are in a person’s body just by looking. If he can translate it into terms I can use, maybe I can translate it into terms others can use, depending what abilities are required. He seemed confident that I, at least, could learn it. But it’s not clear if that’s because I’m a Dreamer, or because the mark connects me with the fade in particular ways, or what.”

“Why is this so important to you, Ember?” Cassandra asked.

“Many reasons, actually, some more personal than others. I know blood magic is still an issue, and folks with little exposure to magic will always be afraid of what mages can do with their own power. But spirit work, at least, I feel like I can contribute to improving significantly. Maybe even uniquely, given the combination of our collection of resources and my background!”

Cullen laughed, “Slow down, Ember! We’re not going to solve this overnight.”

“No, no, of course not,” I agreed, abashed, only to dive in again in earnest. “But Cullen, if we can find better ways, think of how much it would help everyone! Not just mages, but Templars would both have an easier job, and wouldn’t have to be so feared, and everyone else could be more assured that things are well in hand. There’s no downside! Well, not to the potential results anyway. Maybe to the process it’s going to take to _get_ there...”

Cullen gave me an apologetic look. “There are many problems with what you propose, not the least of which is how the Inquisition will look to outsiders if they find out we are testing possession methods. Even if we explained that we were attempting to find methods for detecting and ending possession, it could be easily misrepresented and used against us. Ordinarily I'd say public opinion can hang, but in this case they'd have good reasons for concern.”

I sighed somewhat dramatically. “I know. But we have Dagna, and rift magic, and the best collection of magical experts in Southern Thedas at least, not to mention the last known active Seekers. Who _better_ to investigate this problem?”

“It’s not that there’s anyone better suited, it’s that they fear any investigation at all,” Cassandra explained. “This is why the Seekers mostly worked in secret. Much of what we were responsible for would have caused outrage and unrest had the public been aware of our work. They would rather ignore the problem than do anything about it,” she concluded testily. Cassandra has little patience for fools, I’ve noticed.

“Right, so we’d have to be discreet, obviously. But I still think the work is long overdue, and that we’re the best people to do it. If I have time, I’d love to spearhead the effort myself. I think my training from home may help.”

“What sort of training?”

“Methods for finding and contacting willing, benevolent spirits. Methods for compelling spirits to show themselves and speak truthfully if they aren’t cooperative. Methods for pulling people out of possession, for building up their resistance to unwanted possession, and, um…” I stopped myself, frowning. Adding that I had been taught methods for _causing_ possession was unlikely to inspire trust. I shook my head. “.... where was I? Right! So, I’ve used some of it already in the fade and it works well there, at least for me. I’d like to see if it works similarly outside the fade. I don’t know how much of it would work for regular mages, much less non-mages, but any progress at all may help.”

For the first time since it came up, Cullen looked excited too. “If you have new methods that can reliably detect possession without harming the mage, we could stop the worst problems from happening. Maybe even set up routine evaluations!”

“I don’t know about that, Cullen. It may be less harmful, but it’s still invasive. I’d be wary of inflicting it on even willing mages without some kind of cause. But if the methods I know can be used by non-Dreamers, and especially if the earlier stages of negative possession are reversible, mages would have less reason to fear being suspected of possession, and thus would be more willing to cooperate.”

“That alone might be worth a great deal,” Cullen agreed.

“There’s something else, though,” I added. “As far as I can tell, the existing system does nothing to account for positive possession. It happens sometimes, but is at best treated as don’t-ask-don’t-tell sort of thing. Everyone knows that a particular spirit healer is protected by a spirit of Faith or Compassion or such, and lets it go as long as they can keep it hidden. Since the only method for confirming possession could have a side effect of distorting a spirit into a demon, nobody is willing to risk bringing it up in the first place.”

Cassandra nodded. “The Seekers are well aware of benevolent spirit possession in theory, but we find it rare enough as to be irrelevant. Benevolent spirits rarely linger, if they take interest in the first place.”

“I suspect it’s a lot more common than most people realize. I would have thought it would be encouraged, since a protective spirit would likely _prevent_ demon possession. But it sounds like everyone is so worried about any possession at all, they’re not willing to even consider it.”

“In our experience, the vast majority of spirits that are willing to interact with mortals at all are demons. Benevolent spirits just don’t care enough to step forward,” Cassandra explained.

“How much of that is a side effect of indoctrination, though? Solas tells me that Demons and Spirits aren’t separate, they’re just the same kinds of beings through different filters. If the Chantry teaches people to expect demons when they are conscious in the fade, doesn’t that become a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

Cullen looked worried. Cassandra shook her head, “It takes a great deal of discipline to withhold expectations. No matter what we teach, it will be distorted by fear. Warning them that the demons they encounter can’t be trusted is necessary to protect them.”

“But it actively interferes with neutrality. There’s a difference between teaching that spirits are alien, that they don’t understand reality the same way we do and shouldn’t be expected to think like us, and teaching that spirits are out to get us.”

Cullen looked sad, “Most mages were brought to the circle at a young age, frightened by their own barely-controlled powers, nightmares of demons, or how they were treated by the people they encountered before the Templars found them. The luckiest were brought to us willingly by families who were used to having magic in their lineage and taught their children that the Circle exists to help them. The worst were hidden from us, taught to fear and hate us, so that the very act of being brought into our protection makes things worse for them. No matter how we handled it, the majority of mages came into the circle already terrified before we ever had a chance to teach them fear. By the time they get to their Harrowing, they have either mastered that fear, or they succumb to it, and we have to kill them before they can harm anyone else. That’s why the Harrowing exists.”

“Right, of course. And that’s when the Templars are doing their very best. Add corruption in the ranks and it’s all downhill from there. _Dammit._ ” I muttered.

“It is still worth pursuing, Ember,” Cassandra reassured me. “We simply want to be sure you understand the scope of the problem.”

“Yes, thank you.” I shook my head, wryly. “I guess I’m just so tired of pervasive cultural problems that take generations of adjustment to shift even a little, I was sort of hoping things were different here. But that’s stupid. Everything is _always_ like that. I know I’m idealistic, maybe even naive. I was just sort of hoping I could help this time.”

Cullen smiled, “I think maybe this time, you can.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath. “So, here’s the thing. I had Cole look at Davin. If I understand what Cole said, he is either closely accompanied or possessed by a spirit of Protection brought to him by his mother at a very young age. If we can confirm this, Davin should not only be exonerated, he should be considered to be less at risk than other mages. And he may be able to help us with this project, as well. If I understand what Leliana told me, there’s a spell that requires two mages and a willing sacrifice, or - preferably - several mages and a fair bit of lyrium. Obviously we’d never use the blood version. But Solas and I, as Dreamers, don’t even need the spell, right? We can just go there naturally. We should be able to definitively confirm what kind of entity is hanging around Davin, and to what degree, and if it turns out to not be benevolent, to banish or destroy it. Leliana tells me this is a known and proven method for resolving possession.”

“I can see how you would confirm whether he is possessed or not by this method, but how can you be certain you have correctly identified what type of spirit is possessing him?”

“That’s where the methods I have may come in, if there aren’t already such things available. But between Solas studying Elven methods and Dorian studying Tevinter methods, there may well be multiple options the Chantry has overlooked. I have at least one method for compelling spirits to tell me the truth that is worth trying. I’d like to try it on Davin directly before invading his dreamspace, actually. Not instead, but to compare results. Davin will be cooperative, I think. He knows we’re trying to find better ways, and that we will be as merciful as we can, and that if he cooperates, it may benefit mages in general.”

“Can you trust him not to give you falsely positive responses?” Cassandra asked.

“I need to think about how we handle it, given how subjective all the elements are, but I think if we’re careful we should be able to manage. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, so we need to find a way to actively disprove presence. I’ll see what I can do to sort out the appropriate hypotheses.”

“I want trained Templars with you for this, in case something goes wrong,” Cullen added, sternly.

“Of course. Good warders are a must for any possession work. I’d like to discuss who, though. Some Templars have better manners than others. I need someone who will take my instructions seriously even if it contradicts their Templar training.”

“I’m sure you can have your pick. They’d all be honored to work with the Inquisitor.”

“I don’t know enough of your Templars by name. I should fix that. Rylen’s too busy, I’m sure. Can you spare Ser Barris from time to time?”

“If it’s only for the sessions, yes. He’s too busy to take on an extended project, however.”

I nodded. “I’d need him to fill out reports on what he perceived, and I’d like his opinions when possible, but I think the research can be covered by the rest of us easily enough.”

“We should see if any of the Tranquil can contribute. I’m sure some would be interested, and they are excellent at research,” Cassandra added.

“That would be awesome. Actually, I wanted to meet all our Tranquil anyway,” I said.

Cullen seemed surprised. “Why?”

“They are some of our most vulnerable members. I like to know who to keep an eye out for. Do we have people who check in with them regularly to make sure they’re actually okay? I know they tend not to speak up on their own about being mistreated…”

“I believe Minave looks after them, but I will confirm,” Cullen replied.

“Good. I don’t want to leave Davin in the cells longer than necessary. If we can attempt the confirmations on him within the week, he can be situated more appropriately before we leave for the Exalted Plains. I have paperwork to deal with tonight, and Josephine has me in meetings for half of tomorrow, but if Solas and Cole and Ser Barris can be available tomorrow afternoon, we can take the next steps. Will that work?”

“I will see who can cover his afternoon shift,” Cullen agreed.

“May I observe, Ember?” Cassandra looked surprisingly hopeful.

“Of course. You’re both welcome, as are Dorian and Leliana, as far as I’m concerned. I’d worry about making Davin nervous with such a crowd, but I think that would actually help confirm the method in this case.”

“Excellent. See you then.” Cassandra got up to leave.

“You said you have paperwork left to do. Would you like company?” Cullen asked.

“Yes, _please_ ,” I replied, grinning, and rolling my eyes.

“I’ll return shortly then,” he grinned back, before leaving to fetch his own paperwork.

Not that an evening of paperwork was much fun, but misery loves company.

\-----

Cullen didn’t return for over an hour. Just as I was beginning to worry, I heard my door latch, and careful footsteps trudging up my stairs.

“Hello?” I called out.

“It’s just me,” he called back. He sounded exhausted.

I arose to meet him at the top of the stairs. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just some runners delivering reports and…” He put his armload of papers down on my desk and turned back to face me. “Ember, I need to tell you something.”

I frowned, worried. “Of course, Cullen, what is it?”

He took a deep breath, looking down, and then back up to meet my eyes. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I... no longer take it.”

My eyes widened. “What does that mean for you?”

“Those cut off suffer. Some go mad. Others die. The Order uses the threat of withdrawal to control us, but the late stages of addiction are almost as bad.”

“What, even if you taper off?” I frowned.

He shook his head, “The need for lyrium always increases as you take it.”

“Shit, Cullen, are you okay?” I started to reach for him, but pulled my hands back to clasp them tightly in front of my chest.

“It has yet to kill me,” he replied with a half-smile. “I stopped taking it when I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't…” He paused, closing his eyes, and took another deep breath. “I will not be bound to the Order - or that life - any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I waved a hand absently. “I’m more worried about you. Cassandra mentioned that you’ve been having headaches. What other symptoms are you having?”

“I wouldn’t wish to burden you, Inquisitor. I simply felt you should know. Without lyrium, my Templar abilities are limited.”

“Well, you had no trouble purging my mana this afternoon,” I mused, my mind focused on lists of herbs and types of headaches they could help with.

“ _What?_ ” Cullen’s dismayed shout startled me out of my reverie. “I purged your mana? Were you hurt? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were in the middle of a flashback. You thought I was a blood mage or something, I’m sure. It didn’t cause me any lasting harm.”

“Ember, I’m so sorry!” he reached forward to put his hands on my shoulders, only to pull back, as if he was afraid to touch me. “I would never wish to harm you! You’re-” he clamped his mouth shut, and looked away.

I put my hands on his shoulders, seeking his gaze. “‘ _I’m_ ’?”

His expression was pained. “You are important to us. To the Inquisition. To everyone. I would never wish you harm.”

“I know that, Cullen. If I got hurt, it was my own mistake, triggering your flashback, and then trying to heal you when you didn’t know what was going on. _So,_ ” I shrugged, “now I know better.”

He still looked dismayed, ashamed.

I tried to make light of it. “Hey, you’re my commander. You’re supposed to teach me how to make better defense decisions, right? Well, I sure learned something!” I shook his shoulders gently.

His smile was strained, and didn’t reach his eyes as he squeezed them shut. “That… is definitely an important lesson, Inquisitor. Perhaps… perhaps we should work on our reports now.”

I nodded, dropping my hands and gesturing to the desk. “Pull up a chair. I’ll get more pastries delivered. Do you want tea?”

“Please,” he agreed, relieved at the change of topic.

\-----


	20. Proofs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The possession task force settles in, and wraps up their first project.

I went to speak with Connor today. He was very spooked to be asked for by name, and the other mages in the tower gave him resentful looks. I don’t know if it’s his history or his noble background. He did seem to have a couple of friends by his side, though, who looked worried for him instead.

“You asked for me, messire?” A couple of people snickered in the background, until I raised an eyebrow at them and they found other things to busy themselves with.

“I did, Connor. Do you remember me? We met briefly in Redcliffe.”

“You do look familiar, but I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“My name is Ember.”

“Ember…? Your Worship! I am so sorry, I did not realize!”

“It’s fine, Connor,” I smiled reassuringly. “I’ve never been much for honorifics anyway. I’d like to speak with you in private, please. Will you follow me?”

“I don’t leave the tower much, Your Worship.”

“No? You have as much freedom of movement as anyone else here, you know. You are not restricted to the mage tower.”

“I know, I just,” he looked down, “I don’t want to bother anyone.”

“Well, you’re definitely not bothering me by joining me _at my request_.”

He looked up, as if realizing something, and then schooled his features and nodded firmly. “Of course, Inquisitor, I am at your disposal.”

“Come on, then,” I smiled again, and led him to the small “spooky” library that had become my favorite place for private discussions of weird magical shit.

“Is this about Redcliffe, Your Worship? I’m afraid I have no sway there any longer. My uncle doesn’t need any input from me about how to run the Arling.”

“It’s not about Redcliffe, no. Well, not directly, anyway. I have a special project that I need help with, and you are uniquely qualified among all our Inquisition resources to help with it.”

“I thought you already had a fade expert on your team, Inquisitor?”

“I do, yes. What I don’t have...” I took a deep breath, and spoke more slowly. “...is someone who has withstood demon possession and lived to tell the tale.”

Connor looked at me as though I had slapped him, and then exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Of course you know, everyone knows. But why would you want someone so weak of will helping you with an important project?”

“You are _not_ weak willed, Connor. Not at all. You held your own against a desire demon strong enough to summon and control dozens of lesser demons without ever transforming into an abomination. You held on long enough to be rescued, as a child no less. You’ve avoided demon possession your entire life since, despite being considered more at risk than average, and even earned the privilege of being taught in Tevinter, where mages are less restricted than in the South and temptation abounds. But there’s more…”

Connor was watching my face in pained fascination, as though I was telling him things he’d never heard before. Finally he took a deep breath and shook his head to clear it. “More?” he asked.

“You’ve heard that Altus Pavus and I traveled briefly to a dark future while in Redcliffe?”

“There were rumors, yeah. I didn’t know how seriously to take them. Time travel isn’t possible, I thought?”

“It’s apparently more complicated than that, especially since the Breach formed. Anyway, it’s true, we did get shoved forward a year, and that future was a complete disaster. And you were there.”

He winced. “I’m not sure I want to know what I became, Inquisitor.”

“That’s just it, Connor, _you didn’t._ We found you just before you committed suicide defiantly, still entirely yourself after a full year of being tempted and coerced by Venatori agents and their demons. No one else had even survived! You were the only uncorrupted mage left in Redcliffe!”

He raised both eyebrows, his expression a mixture of shock and hope.

“You see, Connor?” I pressed on. “You not just _not_ weak-willed, you have the strongest will I’ve ever seen!”

His voice was barely above a whisper, “But the demon… she… _it_ …”

“They appealed to your fear and pain, and intense desire to help your father, I know. You were a child, Connor, how were you supposed to resist an offer to save your own father’s life? And you _did_ save his life. He’d be dead now, and Ferelden may well have fallen to the blight, if you hadn’t made that deal. It was a terrible mistake to deal with a demon, but it was an honest mistake, Connor.”

He covered his face with his hands, and shook his head violently. “I… I can’t. All those people. You don’t understand.”

I sighed. Obviously I had pushed too hard. Again. Holy gods, I’m bad at this sometimes.

“I’m sorry, Connor, I didn’t mean to push you so hard. Can I get you anything?”

He laughed weakly, his face still in his hands. “Can _you_ get _me_ …? What?” he dropped his arms and took a deep breath, and then another, squaring his shoulders to look me in the eye, his expression determined. “No, Inquisitor. What can _I_ do for _you_? You said you needed help with a project?”

“I do, yes. I’m investigating better methods for detecting and reversing possession. The only methods southern Templars currently know are cruel, harmful, and as likely to prompt possession as they are to discover it. The only methods for reversing it are considered too risky and expensive to bother with, when demon possession is presumed the mage’s fault anyway. It’s a horrible system, it doesn’t work, and it’s skewed entirely towards excusing the abuse of mages regardless of their own actions. I’ve already uncovered some potential solutions, but we need to sort out how we can go about testing them, and if they work, teaching them, and I need a better understanding of what the experience of demon possession is like. Will you help us?”

Connor listened to me intently, nodding emphatically at times, looking confused at others. When I reached my final question, his determined expression returned, and he nodded sharply. “Absolutely, Inquisitor. I will do whatever I can to help, short of allowing myself to become possessed again. That I will never do.”

“Of course not. I would never ask that of you. Though if you know anyone who has a relationship with a benevolent spirit that might be helpful to our efforts, do let me know?”

He looked confused, but nodded anyway.

“Oh, and Connor? This project is not one we want people talking about. If outsiders heard muddled versions of what we’re trying to do here, they will undoubtedly misunderstand. Please keep it to those of us working on the project?”

“Of course. Er, who else is on the project?”

“Thus far, myself, my fade expert, Solas, Altus Pavus, Seeker Cassandra, Commander Cullen, and the Circle mage, Davin. Sister Leliana knows, naturally. There will be a few others researchers and some Templars, all sworn to secrecy. It’s too many people to really expect no word will get out, but hopefully we can control how and what words.”

“Understood, Your Worship. I will look through my notes on the fade from my studies in Tevinter to see if there is anything of use. Is there anything else you require of me?”

“Not right now, but please do feel free to move about Skyhold. None of you are restricted to the tower unless explicitly told otherwise. I will send a runner for you when we are gathering. Shall I walk you back to the tower now?”

“To the hall is sufficient, Your Worship. I can find my way back from there.”

“Sure. You can call me Ember, if you want. At least, when there isn’t an audience. I sort of hate titles, honestly.”

He laughed, finally. “When I first lost mine, I was so angry! I thought I deserved to be treated like a lord, and was frustrated that everyone just avoided me, no one would serve me the way I was used to back home. Living in a Circle will take the edge off anyone’s sense of entitlement, I guess.”

“Ouch. I mean, I’m all for egalitarianism, but making everyone equally abused isn’t the way.”

“They didn’t actually abuse me. My father’s influence reached even there, I suppose. Or everyone was afraid of pushing me into something terrible, I don’t know. I mean, the Templars kept a very close eye on me, but I was always cooperative and stayed out of trouble. When I got the placement in Tevinter, I think everyone was relieved to be free of me.” He looked down again, resigned.

“Well, we’re glad to have you here, Connor. There’s a lot you can do to help the Inquisition, and I look forward to working with you.”

He looked up at me, eyes hopeful, and after a moment, smiled at me. It was a small smile, hesitant at first, but as I smiled back, it grew into a broad grin.

“Let’s do this!” he declared.

“Absolutely!” I agreed, still grinning. I moved to the door, and held it open for him, and then led him back to the great hall. As we emerged, I caught Enchanter Vivienne regarding me sternly. I nodded to her, and parted ways with Connor, to head to the stairwell leading up to the mezzanine she had claimed for herself.

I caught up with her on the balcony, and raised my eyebrows to her. “Vivienne?”

“That was the Guerrin boy, was it not?” she asked, imperious as always.

“Connor, yes. I’m getting his help on a project that falls within his expertise.”

“You are aware of the boy’s history, Inquisitor?”

“I am, yes. I’m not worried. He has resisted all temptation since.”

“I see. Is this a project I can assist you with as well?”

“I do hope so. I’ve only just gotten started, and was planning to speak with you about it as soon as I could catch up with you. Is now a good time?”

“Certainly. Shall I have tea brought to us?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

We chatted for a while. I was careful explaining the project to her, and asked primarily for her expertise and knowledge in how the Circles handle possession currently, their methods for detection and reversal. As expected, Vivienne held only disdain for mages who failed to resist temptation, even under duress, and saw little point in my wanting to find methods for reversing possession instead of just destroying any mage so weak as to fall prey to demons. She approved wholeheartedly of the Harrowing, and lacked much concern for the Templars’ methods, even when I pointed out that abuse leads directly to possession for reasons beyond even a strong-willed mage’s control.

It was a disappointing conversation, but she did agree, at least, to ensure that I had all the information available to the Circles on these topics, and promised that, so long as I kept the project under control, she would keep her peace about it and tell no one. She needs my reputation spotless for her own sake, after all. Let’s hope I didn’t just hand her future blackmail material.

\-----

I was so used to Cole popping in as soon as I thought about him, it took me a few tries to find him again. I checked the upper levels of the tavern, the infirmary, and the kitchen - his favorite places to hover - only to find him tending to a litter of puppies in the stable.

“ _Hungry, happy, curious, warm,_ ” he was whispering to them. “I like you too, thank you,” he told the one puppy that was crawling out of the basket to reach his lap.

“Hey there, Cole,” I called to him, quietly, not wanting to startle the puppies.

“ _You like puppies, but you don’t want one. You want a cat,”_ he replied.

“Not that I’m ever around to take care of one, but yep, I’m a cat person.”

“Dogs are... too much? _Loud barks, fast movements, coarse fur, strong smell..._ ” he chanted.

“Er, yeah. Dogs overwhelm me pretty easily. But I didn’t come to discuss dogs, Cole.”

“No, you want lessons.”

“Yes, please. You said you could teach me how to tell when there’s two where there should be one?”

“Yes.”

“Can we do that here?”

“No. We need one who is two.”

“Right. So back to Davin, then."

\-----

Cassandra, Dorian, Cole, and I sat in the jails, chairs set just outside Davin’s cell, where he sat cross-legged on his cot, smiling patiently at us. He had yet to touch the snacks we brought for him.

“Thank you for being so patient with us, Davin,” I apologized.

“If I can help change how we are treated in the future, then it’s worth a little patience,” he replied. “Besides, you brought bribes!”

I grinned, “Every little bit helps, right? So, Cole, where do we begin?”

“Close your eyes. See with your heart.”

Cassandra huffed in frustration. Cole turned to her, and amended, “ _With the light of faith. You remember._ ”

She let out a quiet, startled, “Oh!”

“Curiosity is not enough,” he told Dorian. “ _Your heart is fire. Fire gives light._ ”

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, centering, grounding, and then focusing on opening my heart.

“Yes, but _use the eyes she gave you_ ,” Cole’s voice murmured in my ear.

The eyes _who_ gave…? Suddenly my mind was flooded with images of amber and gold, flowing linen and soft fur. Green eyes from my memory regarded me kindly. My heart surged with overwhelming _love_.

Freyja. My Lady.

She showed me many times how beautiful the world is, how loved everyone is, through her eyes. But she couldn’t reach me here, could she? How could I see through her eyes?

It seems silly in retrospect, but I’ve learned to take my mind’s crazy references as they are. I remembered how, in AD&D, the first three levels of clerical spells are grounded purely in the priest’s own faith, requiring no actual contact with their god. Perhaps what Freyja had shown me was within me now?

I shifted within myself, letting myself feel a mask of Freyja’s face settle onto my own, to look through her eyes like lenses placed before mine.

I opened my eyes. Everything looked the same, of course, but I _felt_ differently about it.

Cassandra, Dorian, and Cole were all so incredibly, unbearably _beautiful._ The world around me, made of matter laced with lyrium-fueled magic, was art. Even the broken parts held unique grace.

I turned to look at Davin, and blinked. Davin was indeed every bit as beautiful as any other being.

And so was the second being, beating with Davin’s heart, surrounding him in a protective embrace. I felt patience, and love, but most of all, I felt a strong urge to _protect_ Davin emanating from his aura.

Where there would be one, there were two.

I inhaled slowly.

“Cole, how would I know if the one present were a demon?”

“You would not like a demon.”

“But… everyone is beautiful in Freyja’s eyes.”

“Everyone who _loves_.”

“Ah,” I blinked and took another slow, deep breath, letting the vision fall away. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I turned to the others. “Dorian, Cassandra, any luck?”

“I… am not certain what I’m looking for,” Dorian replied, apologetically.

“You and Cole both look very bright, and Davin looks… blurry?” Cassandra replied, her eyes still closed. “Does that mean he is possessed?”

“He is _protected_ ,” Cole replied.

“I need more examples if I am to make use of this, Inquisitor,” the Seeker concluded.

“Fair enough. We’ll keep working on it. Thank you.” I turned to Davin. “Thank you, again, Davin. Is there anything you need?”

“I’m fine for now, thank you. Everyone has been kind since you intervened, Inquisitor. Master Tethras even brought me a few of his books to read!” he smiled again.

“Hah! A captive audience! That figures. I’ll check in with you again soon. I believe we should be able to release you tomorrow if things go according to plan, but I will let you know for sure as soon as we know.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, calm as ever. Protection must be very reassuring.

\-----

This morning I asked Cullen and Cassandra to stay for a moment after our usual war table meeting to discuss Davin’s situation.

“I’m almost positive that it is indeed a spirit of Protection guarding him, not a demon of any kind possessing him, but I want to test the charm to compel truth before we release him for sure. Can you make time today?”

Cassandra nodded.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “I have some paperwork I need to get done immediately, and I should check on the latest recruits, but I could make some time this afternoon. We could meet for lunch and then go?”

“Works for me,” I agreed. “Cassandra?”

“I am at your disposal, Inquisitor,” she replied.

“Excellent!” I declared, and then held out my arms expectantly.

Cullen grinned at Cassandra’s blush, but she dutifully moved forward to give me an awkward hug, before departing.

After she left, Cullen held his arms out for a hug. “What exactly prompted this new habit of yours, Ember?”

“The Iron Bull, actually. He noticed how tense I was getting.”

“The Iron Bull suggested you start hugging your friends more?” he asked.

I laughed, pulling out of the hug, to look at his dubious expression. “Not exactly, no. But this was a good compromise.”

“I’m not sure anyone else would have thought of it,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But I find I rather like it. Be careful, though. Barris has taken to calling you ‘our snuggly Inquisitor’ and I heard some of the soldiers call you ‘the Hugging Herald’ yesterday.”

I laughed at those epithets. “Is it a problem, if they see me embrace multiple friends? I thought I should ask several of you to avoid suspicion of an affair.”

“Most people only embrace their family, in public. At least, in Ferelden, anyway. I gather from what our Ambassador tells us that Antiva is less… reserved,” he said.

I gave him a cheeky grin. “Well, I’m not from Ferelden, so I guess they’ll just have to cope with my strange ways!”

“I suppose we will, at that.” He laughed, and turned to leave, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he opened the door with the other.

“Besides,” I murmured as he walked away. “You all are the closest to family I have left.”

\-----

I returned later the same day with Cole, Cullen and Cassandra in tow, carrying a short wooden staff.

“Hello again, Davin! There is one more thing I would like to try, please, with your consent.”

“Certainly, Inquisitor. What can I do for you?”

“There is a spell I have used while fadewalking that has allowed me to compel answers from spirits. I would like to see if it can compel answers from your guardian, if possible.”

Davin frowned. “Will it hurt?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. It is not meant to induce pain, but a spirit who resists may find it more uncomfortable than one who is relaxed and cooperative, I think. It shouldn’t be physically painful, but it might be… _disturbing_? I doubt it would do much to you, but the spirit guarding you should, if I do it right, be compelled to speak with me. Cole is here to help me discern who is actually speaking, and to help us detect any distress you are unable to communicate directly.”

He nodded slowly, still frowning. “I think it will be okay.”

“Okay, sit down and relax, please.” I planted the short staff firmly between my feet, holding the top with both hands, and focused my will.

“ _Adalheide I haight, through worlds have I wandered, seeking the spirit whom now I summon!_ ” I intoned. I recited the incantation firmly, without ire. “ _Speak now, spirit, ‘til said thou hast. Answer the asker ‘til all I know,_ ” I commanded.

 _“What do you seek?”_ a calm voice came from Davin’s mouth. It sounded like an older woman. I looked to Cole, who nodded to me, calmly.

I returned my gaze to Davin. “What is your nature, spirit?”

_“I am Protection. I guard the boy from harm.”_

“Why do you do this?”

 _“I guarded his mother before him, and her father before her.”_ It sounded something like a kinfetch - a family guardian spirit.

“How long have you guarded his line?”

_“I do not measure time.”_

I amended my question. “How many have you guarded before him, in his line?”

_“He is the eighth.”_

“What do you guard him against?”

“ _Violence from without. Temptation and torture from within. He has bid me not to intervene with Templars. I allow this, because more harm would come to him if I did not._ ”

“Alas, I fear he is correct. We hope to fix that.”

 _“So you have said.”_ The spirit replied sternly. _“If I can protect him and those like him from further harm, I will gladly assist.”_

“Fair enough. I have one more question. Do you control Davin?”

“ _No. I am near, always near, should he need me. I would not have him need protection from me._ ”

“Thank you, Protection. I release you.” I relaxed my will.

 _“Thank you, Adalheide. We wish you luck in your endeavors,”_ Protection replied, voice still stern, but less strained.

Davin’s face relaxed for a moment, and then he spoke again in his normal voice. “That… was interesting. We’ve never done that before.”

“Did it hurt?” Commander Cullen prompted.

“No,” Davin and Cole responded in unison. Cullen glanced at Cole, startled, as if he hadn’t noticed him before. I furrowed my eyebrows, looking back and forth between Cole and Cullen. Cole gave me a sheepish look, and tilted his head. Cullen shook his head, as if to clear some cobwebs.

“Cole, how long have you been there?” He asked.

“Sorry, Commander, you forgot,” Cole replied.

Cullen grunted, and returned his focus to Davin. “Davin, I’m satisfied for now that the spirit guarding you is not a demon. If neither the Inquisitor nor the Seeker object, I am inclined to release you to the Mage tower, under probation. You are not to leave Skyhold, however, and please do not wander alone.”

“I am satisfied,” I agreed. “With the qualification that if you _do_ wish to leave Skyhold, please come talk to us, so that we can ensure your safety, or make alternative arrangements. Until this project is over, I would prefer you stay here.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Davin agreed. “My mother was my only family before the Circle took me in. The only people I care about are all here. Those who survived, anyway.”

I frowned in sympathy.

“I am satisfied as well, then. But you should not wander needlessly, and I insist you tell us immediately if anything changes.” Cassandra frowned thoughtfully, and moved to unlock the cell door.

\-----

We gathered for dinner in my rooms: Cassandra, Cullen, Dorian, Solas, Vivienne, and Connor. Davin opted to rest, and Cole wasn’t much use in meetings. Leliana was far too busy, of course.

“Varric has sent a letter to a friend in Kirkwall,” Dorian began, between sips of soup, “vouching for me, and asking her help. She knows some Dalish tricks, apparently, and might be able to help.”

“He knows to be discreet, I assume?” I asked. I hadn’t thought to bring Varric into the project. Dagna, maybe, but most dwarves aren’t much for arcane research.

“Of course,” he nodded, “although I didn’t tell him why I was interested, so there is perhaps less to be discreet about.”

“We should assume Varric and the Iron Bull will figure it out. Sera might overlook it. Do we want to just let the inner circle know what’s up, to avoid confusion?”

“That might be for the best,” Cassandra agreed.

I summarized the afternoon’s success with Davin and Protection for the others.

Connor pressed his lips together.

“Connor, is something bothering you?” Cullen asked.

“Apologies, Commander, it’s just that my notes indicate there is no discernible difference between spirit and demon possession prior to transformation into an overt abomination.” He turned to me, frowning, his eyebrows furrowed. “How can you be sure, Inquisitor, that Davin’s protector is not a demon?”

Solas cleared his throat. We all looked to him. “A demon is simply a spirit whose purpose has been perverted. If the young man’s guardian is serving its true purpose, apparently Protection, then there should not be a problem.”

“But what if it lied?” he asked, understandably worried.

I shook my head. “If the charm worked correctly, the spirit _couldn’t_ lie to me. They could be _wrong_ , of course, but spirits are compelled to tell me the truth according to their understanding.”

“And you’re quite certain the charm worked?” Vivienne demanded.

I met her gaze calmly. “I would want us to test it in a wider variety of situations before teaching it to others, but I am satisfied that it has been working correctly for me thus far, yes.”

“Where, precisely, did you get this charm, Inquisitor?” she asked in her usual, incisive tone.

“I was taught the charm as part of my training as a seer,” I explained, not sure how much detail I should go into.

“You are Rivaini?” she replied, surprised. “I would not have guessed that, looking at you.”

“Ah, no,” I replied, nervously. “Although I would dearly love to learn more about the seers from Rivain, to see what similarities they may have.”

“My apologies, darling. I didn’t mean to pry,” she corrected herself, glancing at the others.

“Oh, no worries!” I replied, still unnerved. “I’m just…” I sighed. “Honestly, I would tell you if I could, but I don’t actually remember how I got here, so...” I shrugged helplessly.

“Well, we can discuss it some other time, I’m sure,” Dorian intervened, smoothly. Vivienne nodded in agreement, her expression carefully pleasant.

“Have you had any luck researching further Circle methods for identifying spirits attached to spirit healers and mediums?” I asked her.

She shook her head slightly. “A variation on the Harrowing ritual can be used to allow a spirit healer a clearer view of the situation in the fade, and you already know of the group ritual that can send a mage into another’s dreams to intervene with spirits on their behalf. It is terribly expensive, and success is far from guaranteed. I can see why it was not widely practiced.” She lifted her chin to regard me steadily. “I have yet to find any _reliable_ method for examining the situation from outside the fade short of using blood magic to summon the spirit, which is, of course, entirely out of the question.”

“Obviously,” I agreed. “Solas, any luck?”

He shook his head. “Ancient Elvhen magic entwined with the fade so smoothly, I doubt it would have crossed their minds to find a method for use outside of the fade. I have found no record of any such methods in dreams or surviving literature. I have not, however, attempted to research Dalish methods yet. Perhaps Dorian will have better luck.”

“ _Snert_ , I was hoping for methods that any group can implement, dammit.” I sighed. “Well, thank you all. Do let me know if you find anything new. Even partial hints might give us ways to improve. For now I’ll work on sorting out effective, ethical ways to test what we have.”

“Perhaps the Avvar will have something of use, Inquisitor?” Cassandra suggested. “Have you asked the Skywatcher?”

“No, I haven’t. I’d like to keep this in house for now. But that’s a good idea. I’ve been meaning to see what he’s willing to share with me about his culture anyway, maybe I can fit it in there.”

The others nodded, thoughtfully, only for the conversation to stop abruptly in appreciation as platters of desserts were brought up the stairs by a trio of elven servers.

“Your worship,” my handmaid greeted me, grinning. “The cook sends her apologies that they could not provide the little cakes you requested, and hopes you will enjoy this sweetroot and honey pie. She says it is a family recipe, and specifically asked that we report back to her what you think of it.”

“Well, let’s not disappoint her, then!” I grinned back.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope I'm not boring you all with my pet projects in Thedas. :/
> 
> -E-


	21. Dirthavaren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember tries to help the elves, with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. I guess my upper limit is 6k, not 5k, as I'd been trying for. But... but... elves!
> 
> -E-

Eventually I’ll be sent somewhere that _isn’t_ a clusterfuck. Well, no, resolving intractable problems is pretty much our _raison d'etre_ isn’t it? _Sigh._

So, the Exalted Plains smelled like California in August: on fire. More than anywhere we’d been so far, the Plains were a literal war zone. Originally, it was the Orlesian civil war, with the portion of the Imperial army still loyal to Empress Celene attempting to take back the area from her cousin (or was it uncle?) Duke Gaspard’s treasonous forces.

Since the breach, the area had been flooded with demons pouring out of a dozen or so different rifts. And then there’s whatever the deserters who have dubbed themselves “Freemen of the Dales” have been up to, which somehow involves raising the dead? How, exactly, a bunch of ordinary infantry managed to set up major blood magic rituals we’re not sure yet, but we’ve been systematically scouring the countryside closing rifts and burning piles of bodies as we find them. Which of course means we’ve been systematically fighting demons and walking corpses, along with packs of rift-crazed wolves and the deserters themselves.

In amongst all this insanity were wandering refugees, more benevolent lost soldiers and possible deserters, Dalish elves, wild halla, and confused farm animals.

Good times.

\-----

So far we managed to set several sets of beleaguered ramparts to rest, and open up two different forts. There were at least two areas we couldn’t reach yet. One on the far side of the river, across a broken bridge, and the other on the far side of a rockslide. We’ve heard, but not yet seen, signs of another High Dragon camping somewhere on the far side of the natural stone walls surrounding the currently-inaccessible marshland to the North. Nobody has actually complained to us about it yet, so hopefully we won’t have to kill it.

So much has been destroyed in this area, it’s hard to imagine what it looked like before. I look forward to getting out of here once the rifts are closed. I know it’s a privilege to pick and choose my own assignments, but if I’m not personally needed in this area, I’d really rather be somewhere less on fire.

\-----

Well, it looks like I’ll be getting my wish soon. We’ve tracked the Freemen of the Dales to the Emerald Graves. It seems they’re a good bit more organized than they should be, given what they are. There’s a gentleman named Fairbanks who wants to discuss the situation there with us. He’s offering intelligence in return for assistance for the refugees he’s been protecting. Leliana wants me to recruit him directly, if possible. We’ll be heading South as soon as we’re done closing all the currently-accessible rifts here, most likely.

Unfortunately, that means I will definitely have to come back here sometime later to close the remaining rifts, after Cullen’s people have had a chance to clear the obstacles.

_Sigh._

_\-----_

I stood nervously before Keeper Hawen, mentally kicking myself for not spending more time learning customs from the Chargers' Dalish while I had access to her.

“Good afternoon, Keeper Hawen. I am Inquisitor Ember. The young man there, Loranil, guided us here from nearby. He said he wishes to join the Inquisition, but that you would not allow it. May I ask why?”

The Keeper scoffed. “And why should I allow one of my hunters to join an organization run by humans from the Chantry? These are not good times to come unbidden before the People, Inquisitor. Especially here, where we remember the destruction of our home at the hands of humans. My patience is thin. With all that has befallen, perhaps you should be on your way.”

I frowned, and bowed slightly. “My apologies, Keeper. May ask what troubles your clan?”

He sighed, obviously frustrated. “The Orlesian war has hindered our progress through the Dirth. The armies cause rockslides. They dig ditches that trip the Halla and destroy the Aravels, making passage impossible. Precisely when my clan needs him most, my First, Taven, defies my wishes and mounts an excursion to the Emerald Graves. And now, I've learned that the grounds of Var Bellanaris are infested by angry spirits from the Beyond.”

I raised my eyebrows at the last of his concerns. “Perhaps I can help you with the spirits? That is part of my main purpose in being here: to close the rifts and banish the demons they allowed to escape the fade.”

He looked surprised, but nodded thoughtfully. “My clan and I would be deeply grateful if you could. But be mindful of the resting places of our dead. Var Bellanaris is sacred ground.”

“Absolutely. Are there any special procedures required of the space? Rituals for entry, or such?”

“Nothing a human would be expected to know.”

“Fair enough. ‘Var Bellanaris’. And you called this area ‘the Dirth’?”

“‘Dirthavaren.’ It means ‘The Promise’, for the Dales were promised to us by Andraste. It's still the Dirth to us, even if the _shemlens_ give it a name that recalls our destruction.”

I frowned and looked to Cassandra, quizzically.

“The Exalted Plains were named for the Second Exalted March, led against the elves of the Dales in the Glory Age,” she explained, her tone flat.

I’m sure my expression was horrified, because Cassandra blushed slightly, and the Keeper gave me a strange look. “I’m surprised you didn’t know this already, Herald.”

I winced. “I am still learning a great deal of Orlesian and Chantry history, I’m afraid.”

“And yet they call you the Herald of Andraste. Strange that one who represents the Chantry should know so little of its history,” he frowned, tilting his head to eye me skeptically.

I laughed ruefully. “Isn’t it, though? I never asked them to call me that. Who knows if it was Andraste who sent me? But if it was, I would rather recall her own actions than those vainly taken later in her name.”

He raised his eyebrows at that. “So many before you have claimed, Herald. Andraste was kind to the elves. She respected us as allies. The same can not be said of her Chantry since then.”

“So I hear. I am sorry, Keeper Hawen. There is nothing I can do to change the past, and I have little influence over the Chantry now. But if the Inquisition can be of assistance to you here and now, please let us know.”

“Just take care of those angry spirits in our holy ground, Inquisitor. If you can do that, we’ll talk more later.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Keeper Hawen. I hope your day improves.”

\-----

Clearing Var Bellanaris was downright trivial compared to most of the Plains. Whatever wards remained on the sacred ground there must have helped deter intruders. Half the spirits were fade demons we had to dispatch, but the other half were just local spirits upset at the disruptions. Once we got rid of the demons… No, I should admit it… Once we _killed_ the demons, the remaining disgruntled spirits were relatively easy for Solas, Cole, and I to calm.

It’s such a beautiful cemetery, I wanted to spend the afternoon picnicking there, but I wasn’t sure if that was contrary to their traditions, so I simply offered a quiet song to the beloved dead while Cole went around putting fresh flowers on the graves. When I looked up, I saw a pair of Dalish archers emerge from the trees above. They nodded, and smiled slightly before disappearing again. I suppose I should have expected that they’d be watching us. I wish they’d come close enough that I could ask a few questions, but it’s not like they were there for my benefit.

When we returned to Keeper Hawen, he seemed genuinely pleased, and thanked us for the assistance, and for our respect for the graves.

He told us there were veilfire runes around the area that he knew were Elvhen in origin, but he couldn’t make much sense of them. He thought perhaps the Inquisition could use the information, given how interested in Elvhen ruins the Tevinter mages they’d encountered seemed to be. Apparently I managed to come across benevolently enough that he’d rather we find whatever they point to than our enemies. I’m surprised, though, that he’d point us to them at all.

He still wouldn’t let Loranil join us, but he accepted our offer of help in other areas, and has allowed others in the clan to step forward with their concerns. Cole was excited to help. Cassandra and Solas, bless them, kept their irritation at my overzealous philanthropy to themselves. Cassandra, at least, approves of whatever we do to promote the Inquisition as helpful. Solas just finds Dalish elves irritating. Good thing I didn’t bring Sera on this run!

\-----

The main thing we’ve been able to do for the Dalish is refresh their stores. Most of what they were missing we had plenty of back in our main camps, just from what we’d gathered in the last few days. The only needs we couldn’t meet were the bear skins, but if we have a couple to spare, I’ll have them sent along. The golden halla their herdsman was worried for followed us back to the camp easily enough, and alas, the body of the missing young man was also found easily enough. His sister was, naturally, very distraught, but she and the Keeper were mollified when we were able to track down the artifact he’d been searching for in an attempt to prove to the clan that he was ready to be Hawen’s apprentice.

By the time we were done, Keeper Hawen had relented, allowing Loranil to join our cause! The young hunter chatted with us cheerfully the whole way back to our main camp, and agreed to teach me what he could of Dalish etiquette from his and neighboring clans.

\-----

It was a beautiful day in the fade. The sky above the Dirthavaren was a vivid shade of summer blue, with only the faintest feathers of clouds. Birds sang enthusiastically from lush trees. Petals drifted on the breeze. Music was playing somewhere, strings and flutes, and percussion, and wordless voices.

I was wandering contentedly along a wide path through a small valley of ancient trees. Gnarled roots twisted around the edges of the path, and wisps ducked in and out of the hiding places as if playing tag.

I came around the corner of the stone outcropping and looked out over the open plain between the smaller stream and the broad river, and noticed a pair of figures dancing slowly. Their motions were smooth, stately. One arm wrapped behind their backs, the other hand held up before their faces, palms just touching as they turned around each other. Elves!

As the taller of the pair turned toward me, I realized it was Solas, and grinned.

I approached the pair, trying to get a better view of the second, shorter elf. I’ve yet to see an ugly elf in Thedas. This one was as beautiful as any, with short blonde hair, and a heart-shaped face. Were they human, I’d have said they were female, but as an elf the effect was androgynous. Solas and his companion were laughing and smiling. They did not have the intense focus of lovers, but rather, the easy familiarity of old friends.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t interrupting, of course, but since I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for wandering through someone else’s dream by accident, I wanted Solas to be aware of my presence without obliging him to include me. I stepped farther out from the rock, and began to sing.

 _“A man who came to my valley_  
_A man I hardly knew_  
_A man who came to my garden_  
_Grew to love me!_

 _A girl I saw in a valley_  
_A girl I hardly knew_  
_A girl at work in her garden_  
_Grew to love me!_

 _From the gate he called out so kindly_  
_‘Lass, wouldst thou ‘low me rest here?_  
_I’ve ridden quite far.’_

 _‘Share my tea’ she bade me so gently_  
_‘Oatcakes and cream,_  
_Sweet plums in a jar.’_

 _And every day to my garden_  
_This man - Who might he be?_  
_Came bearing baskets of roses_  
_For he lo-ooo-o-oooved me!”_

Sure enough, Solas looked up when he heard my voice, and called out, “Ember!” He waved me over with surprising enthusiasm.

As I drew closer, I realized the other was not truly an elf, but a spirit taking an elven form. Their eyes had no pupils, but a slight glow to them. Their expression was gentle, and welcoming.

“Allow me to introduce my dear friend, Wisdom. Wisdom, this is Ember, the Inquisitor. She is my...” he paused ever so briefly before concluding, “ _companion_. We have been traveling together for some time now.”

Wisdom’s smile grew wider, and they nodded to me. I bowed in deference. “I am honored to meet you, Wisdom.”

“And I, you, Wanderer,” the spirit replied in a lilting voice.

I tilted my head slightly, bemused, “I suppose I _was_ wandering. I didn't mean to intrude on your dream, Solas.”

“Not at all, I am pleased at the opportunity to introduce you to each other. We were just catching up.”

“And dancing,” I smiled impishly, giving myself away.

“And dancing,” he agreed, returning my smile.

“Would you teach me the da-“ I began, only to be interrupted by a loud _CRACK_ , and Wisdom keening. A slender rift had opened, pulling on the spirit. Not the shifting green that I was used to, but a deep purple swirling with black.

“Solas!” the spirit cried, and then gave an agonized, wordless wail, reaching out to us as they were drawn inexorably towards the rift.

We both reached for them immediately, Solas grasping a hand first. When my left hand clamped around their wrist, the motion stopped, and for a moment I thought we had succeeded in preventing the spirit from being taken from us. But the rift shifted and swirled, a dark tentacle reaching the spirit’s floating feet. From their outreached hands down to their feet, the spirit dissolved. As suddenly as it had arrived, the purple rift disappeared with another resounding _CRACK_.

The anchor flared, and I shouted in pain, sitting up suddenly in my tent outside the Dalish camp, now wide awake. From the next tent over, I heard Solas awaken just as suddenly, shouting, “No! Ember!”

I scrambled out of my tent, hearing him scrambling as well, as Cassandra, who had been on watch, stood up with her sword in her hand, asking what was wrong. I didn’t bother putting on my armor, I just shoved on my boots and grabbed my weapons, as Solas grabbed his staff.

“Cassandra, come with us, please!” I called to the warrior, as Solas began sprinting towards the place across the plain where Wisdom had been pulled from us. I ran after him, hoping his friend was in the same place they had been in the fade, knowing all too well that neither space nor time were perfectly entwined between the two worlds. Cassandra’s firm footfalls grew louder behind me.

As we came around the tall stones, we found the demon: a great behemoth of Pride, trapped between five pillars tossing lightning between them. Several mages stood around it, desperately shouting in confusion.

As we approached, one of the mages came towards us, “Thank the Maker you are here! Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon.”

Solas snarled at the human man, “You _summoned_ that demon! Except it was a spirit of Wisdom at the time! You ordered it to kill! You twisted it against its purpose!”

The man tried to argue with us, inane and arrogant, until Solas finally snapped at him. “ _Shut. Up._ ”

I held up my left hand, making it instantly clear who I was. “Help us or stay out of our way,” I ordered as Cassandra caught up with us, demanding to know what was going on.

“We have to release that spirit from the cage,” I told her.

“ _Release_ it? Inquisitor, are you certain?” Cassandra asked, startled.

“It was Wisdom hours ago at most, Seeker. If releasing the bindings doesn’t help, we can handle the fight. It’s nothing we haven’t done before. But we have to try!”

Cassandra nodded curtly, and began moving towards Solas. The elven man was already attacking the pillars with explosions and fists of stone. The demon within lashed out at him, but he ignored the attacks, putting up barriers to dull the blows, and focusing on reversing the damage the human mages had inflicted on his friend.

I pointed to one of the pillars Solas hadn’t attacked yet, and Cassandra immediately ran to chop at it with huge, sweeping strikes. Cole appeared next to a third pillar, and I began cracking a fourth pillar open with ice attacks. Finally, one of the human mages took up attacking the fifth pillar, against the insistence of her companions.

Minutes later, with all five pillars destroyed, Pride roared a final time, deep voice rising into the melodic wail of Wisdom. Solas ran to catch his friend as they fell.

I rushed to his side, and Cole appeared behind me, as Cassandra went to check on the mages, whether to reassure them, or prevent their escape, I wasn’t sure.

Wisdom was injured, their voice labored as they spoke with Solas in elven. He replied, near tears, and after another exchange, bowed his head, and made a slow, sweeping gesture. Wisdom dissolved in his arms.

“ _Dareth shiral_ ,” he whispered, pausing a moment in grief. Cole and I each placed a hand on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Solas,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he replied, his voice choked. “We gave it a moment’s peace in the end. That’s more than it might have had.” Then he raised his head to glare at the mages, and rose to stalk towards them, furious. “All that remains now is _them_.”

“Solas!” I called after him. Cassandra placed herself protectively in front of them, but did not raise her sword. I ran to catch up with him, getting in front of him, to put a hand on his chest. “Solas, _no_.”

“They tortured and killed my friend!”

“They didn’t know!”

“So their ignorance excuses them?” he demanded.

“Of course not! But ignorance can be cured, and even stupidity doesn’t deserve a death sentence. Vengeance isn’t Wisdom, Solas!”

“Wisdom is _dead_ ,” he spat at me, turning towards the mages.

“ _Omnia mutantur, nihil interit_ ,” I recited quietly.

He spun back to stare at me. “What?”

“‘Everything changes, but nothing is truly _lost_ .’ That which is remembered, _lives_. Is this what Wisdom would want, Solas? For us to honor their memory with murder?"

He bowed his head, cringing with grief, and then turned to glare at the arrogant lead mage.

“ _Never again_ ,” he growled, and then turned back to me. “I need some time alone.”

“Be careful, Solas!” I called after him as he stalked away.

“What do we do now?“ asked the mage who had helped us destroy the bindings.

“You are free to go, if you like. But the rest of you,” I looked at each of them in turn, sternly, my shoulders squared, authority carried in my posture, “you will join the Inquisition. I am conscripting you. You will be taught appropriate measures of protection against mere bandits, and the proper ways to interact with fade spirits, and you will take responsibility for your folly. You will serve in debt until I am satisfied that you have _learned_.”

The leader of the group hung his head, duly shamed. The others seemed, if anything, relieved.

I turned to the woman who had helped us. “You are welcome to join us as well, if you like. You may join the other free mages allied with the Inquisition, serving in whatever capacity suits your talents.”

“I would be honored, Your Worship,” she agreed in a rush.

“Fair warning to you all: blood magic will not be tolerated. If we have _any_ reason to believe this -” I gestured to the summoning stones with my empty hand, “- was more than desperate ignorance, the consequences will be swift and severe. _Is that understood_?”

“Yes, Inquisitor!” all but their leader replied, their backs suddenly stiff.

“I hope you know what you are doing, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said quietly as we led them back to camp.

“So do I, Seeker,” I sighed. “So do I.”

\-----

I admit to delaying leaving the Dirth in the hopes that he’d catch back up with us, but so far no such luck.

We took an extra day to wander around, finding the veilfire runes Keeper Hawen told us about. I should have waited until Solas was with us for this, in retrospect. He’d probably be able to make a great deal more sense of it than I can. But Loranil helped as much as he could, which was a good deal better than nothing. I examined each rune, recorded what I could of it in my notes for Solas and Leliana, and discussed them with Loranil and Cole.

I also attempted to fade journey in each location in the hopes of gleaning further information, with little success. Solas has tried teaching me how to get the local spirits to play memories for me at will, but while I have little difficulty getting local spirits to come attend me, I just don’t have his knack for convincing them to tell me stories like he does. They’re always too busy examining me and the anchor to do much else.

When we’d gathered them all, we returned to the Dalish encampment to see what, if anything, Keeper Hawen thought of our notes. Loranil, Cassandra, Hawen, and I settled down to dinner - we’d provided them with meat when we returned - to discuss what we’d seen.

“In the shrine to Sylaise, we found a hawk and a hare chasing the sun,” I began, as Cassandra handed me a bowl, and settled down next to me.

“The Sun is Elgar'nan's father,” Loranil explained. “Our old Hahren used to tell a story of the Sun burning the surface of his consort, the Earth, out of jealousy for his son’s popularity. He said Elgar’nan fought the Sun, scattering his blood across the sky in a stream of stars, and banished him to the void, the abyss beneath the Earth.”

Cassandra spoke up. “The Canticle of Andraste says _'Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.'_ Could these be related?”

I tilted my head, thinking. “Well, fade material out of the rifts looks like emeralds or peridot, and veilfire is green. I thought the fade and the void are not the same thing, but maybe some stories conflate them? Is the void perhaps the ‘raw’ fade Solas has told me about? Or does the void reach _through_ the fade? Oh! Maybe that’s why the Golden City turned black?”

Cassandra pursed her lips, nodding slightly as she considered the possibility, but had little more to add.

Hawen spoke up, as he joined us with his own meal, having assured everyone else was fed. “The Sun’s resting place resulted in hot springs in the Eastern and Southern Dales we call the ‘Pools of the Sun’. Mythal made the moon out of the glowing remains the Sun shed there, after convincing Elgar’nan to restore the sun in return for his promise to set each evening for a while.

“The Hawk and hare are both associated with Andruil who is also called ‘Sister of the Moon’. Most stories say she is the daughter of Elgar’nan and Mythal, but some say she is Mythal’s sister. Regardless, Sylaise is always her sister.”

I grinned at him, delighted that he would share their lore with us. “Andruil is a hunter, right? Did she help Elgar’nan hunt the Sun, maybe? I’ve read that Andruil hunted the Forgotten Ones…”

Hawen nodded, smiling slightly. “You are lucky to have found decent reading, Inquisitor. Andruil did indeed hunt the Forgotten Ones in the void. We know them as Disease and Terror, Spite and Malice, and thus we must not speak their ancient names. Hunting them drove Andruil mad for a time. Only Mythal’s intervention saved her, and thus the people from her madness.”

I nodded, scribbling more notes. Could this story be tied to an eclipse, perhaps? The Forgotten Ones sound a bit like the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, or the Wild Hunt, which makes some sense for a figure like Andruil. I’m liking Mythal more and more as I learn about the Creators.

I looked up from my notes to ask, “Do you have any idea why this would be in a shrine for Sylaise? I get that Andruil is her sister, but other than that, I’m not really seeing the connection.”

Hawen and Loranil both shook their heads. Hawen replied, “Much has been lost to us, I fear, and more will be lost if the clans can not come together regularly to share knowledge.”

I frowned, nodding again.

Loranil cleared his throat.  “The mark at the ancient baths depicts a pair of hands cupped around a moon. So, Mythal again, as she made the moon.”

“Did she make both moons, or just the larger one?” I asked, confused.

“Most versions of the story only mention the larger moon, but there is no other story for the creation of the smaller moon that I know of, and so we assume she made both at the same time,” Hawen explained.

“Okay, that makes sense, as far as it goes. What about this one? An elvhen man sitting on the back of a large crow, covering his mouth with one hand. We found it in a tunnel in the ruins behind the forest there.”

Hawen raised his eyebrows pointedly at Loranil, smiling slightly. Loranil’s eyes lit up. “Oh! That would be Dirthamen, god of secrets. The corbie is his mount!”

The Keeper nodded approvingly. “Elven language doesn’t have separate words to tell crows from ravens, and different clans translate it differently. Sometimes Dirthamen rides two birds, sometimes just the one.”

I nodded, scribbling more notes. “Right! Okay, yeah, that makes sense. So is that related to this other one, then? A pair of ravens, one gripping a heart in its talons, the other a mirror. We found it in open ruins that outlined most of a building. It was across the river, in the open plains.” 

Hawen gestured to Loranil again, testing him. “There’s two mounts, for Dirthamen and his brother Falon’Din, who guides the dead. Dirthamen tamed them. They’re called… ooohhh, Fear and… Illusion?”

“Deceit,” the older man corrected. “Corbies are associated death, fear, and secrets, and thus both brothers. Sometimes, in much older art, we suspect they may represent the Forgotten Ones.”

“So, this is all religious iconography, then?” I asked.

Hawen shrugged, frowning gently. “Older artifacts sometimes include a kind of coded language. I believe that’s the case here, but I don’t know how to interpret it. There are many references to Dirthamen, darkness, and the void here, which implies there is a hidden secret involved. I was hoping, given your willingness to help us, that if you had the opportunity to investigate this, you would bring whatever you discovered back to us.”

“Of course!” I agreed. “But why would you want us to be the ones to investigate this in the first place? Don’t you want to do it yourselves?”

“To be honest, we cannot afford to spread ourselves so thin. My First has already wandered off in search of artifacts, when we need him here with us. I share his fear that the human mages we have seen recently investigating all our ruins mean us far worse than the Inquisition seems to, Chantry or no. You, at least, show respect for the Dalish, and invite us to your cause. That is more than we can say for the foreign mages wandering the Dirth of late.”

“Venatori.” Cassandra snorted in disgust. “Tevinter supremacists and slavers. They have little love for fellow humans, much less elves. Do not engage them if you have a choice in the matter.”

Loranil lifted his chin, “Keeper Hawen forbid us to interact with them before Taven left.”

“Actually, if you notice them gathering somewhere new, drop a note about it to any of our camps, please?” I asked the Keeper. “Or anything to do with red lyrium, which you should also stay far, far away from.”

Hawen’s expression darkened at the mention of slavers, but his quiet fury wasn’t directed at us. After a moment, he nodded curtly, acknowledging my request, before getting up to take his empty bowl to the river.

\-----

I can’t excuse hanging around the Dirth any longer. Solas hasn’t returned, and I couldn’t find him in the fade last night. We won’t be heading directly to the Emerald Graves. We’ll take the notes we’ve gathered here, and guide Loranil back to Skyhold in the hopes of Solas catching up with us before we leave for the Graves.

I know he can take care of himself, but he was so distraught when he walked away. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he gets hurt?

\-----

I sat in the rotunda, staring at the walls from the chair at Solas’ desk, trying to control my breathing.

He hasn’t been seen by anyone in over two weeks, and I haven’t been able to find any trace of his active presence in the fade. That seems wrong. I’ve been experimenting, for contrast, and I have no difficulty finding any of my other friends through the fade, except Cole.

Mages are easier to find, not harder. So either Solas is actively hiding, or something is wrong, and I have no idea how I’ll ever know which!

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding in a noisy burst.

“Are you hoping he left hints for you in the murals, dear Inquisitor, or are you taking up a hobby in revivalist Elven art critique?” Dorian’s cultured tones drifted down from the library mezzanine.

I sighed, and looked up. “I need a better hobby.”

“There’s always chess in the arbor.” he suggested, smirking.

“You just want the excuse to ogle Cullen.” I smiled, rolling my eyes.

“I am hardly the only one seeking an excuse to ogle in the gardens.”

“I bet! See and be seen?” I sighed again and got up from the chair. “All right, Dorian, you’re on. But I’m not fetching the Commander.”

Dorian chuckled as he descended the stairs. “Oh, I’m sure he finds you quite fetching, but we can send a runner easily enough.”

I groaned at the pun as we linked arms to cross the great hall.

\-----

Oh, thank the gods! Solas returned to Skyhold today!

I met him at the gate and walked with him for a while.

“How are you, Solas?” I asked.

He sighed and shook his head, replying quietly. “It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”

I bit my lip, watching his face with concern. “Well, I’m glad you came back? I wasn't sure you would be.”

“Neither was I for a time,” he admitted, finally looking up. “But only a short time. You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now.”

My smile was tentative. I wanted to be comforting, but my nerves were screaming to be soothed after a fortnight of anxious waiting. It took effort, but I pulled myself into priestess mode, suppressing the inappropriate urge to comfort him physically.

“Where did you go?” I asked, gesturing for him to follow me across the courtyard.

He nodded, pulling his hands behind his back and matching his pace to mine. “I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the fade where my friend used to be. It was empty, but there were stirrings of energy in the void. Someday something new may grow there.” His voice was soft. I imagined he was wrung out, but he no longer seemed strained, just tired.

“Your friend might come back?”

“No, not really. Something similar may re-form one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew.”

I nodded, understanding. Reincarnation isn’t resurrection. “ _He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think he would squander souls?_ ” I recited, sadly.

He smiled slightly at the poetry, and took a breath. “I know it’s strange to most, but I appreciate what you did for my friend. That matters to me.” He leaned toward me for a moment, seeming to hesitate. “ _You_ matter.”

I gave in to the urge to reach out, finally, putting my hands on his shoulders. “The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone.”

He closed his eyes, pained, and finally leaned in for a hug. “It has been a long time since I have had a friend in this world,” he all but whispered. “I will... try to keep that in mind.”

I held him for a moment, staying in priestess mode, exuding calm reassurance no matter how much I wanted to crumble in relief. I was _so worried_ he wasn’t going to come back to us, to _me_. But I didn’t want to make his mourning about me. Besides, with so many witnesses, it was important that our body language conveyed that I was merely comforting a friend.

After a moment, I leaned back. “You should know, I conscripted those idiot mages. They can’t wander the countryside summoning random spirits anymore. I’m forcing them to absorb a reasonable education on spirit etiquette, and serve in a menial capacity to the other mages until I’m sure they understand their folly.”

He raised his eyebrows, shoulders tense. “You would trust them as agents of the Inquisition?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Absolutely not! Well, the one who caught on and helped us fix it is with the other allied free mages, but not per se an agent. No, the conscripted mages are being treated as indentured servants.”

His shoulders dropped, and he nodded. “Ah. A merciful sentence, if a shameful one.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to kill people for honest mistakes made in desperation, no matter how stupid, but they are responsible for the results of their actions, not just their intentions. Besides, if I just killed them, nobody _else_ would learn from their mistakes. This way they have to serve as an example.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he replied formally. “It’s more than most people might have done.”

“You’re welcome. I just hope it’s enough.” I gestured towards the main hall with feigned nonchalance. “Join me for lunch? I’d like your input on the veilfire glyphs we found in the Elvhen ruins around the Dirth.”

To my relief, his eyes lit up. Nothing like ancient Elvhen magic to make Solas happy.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Emberquizzy sings to get Solas and Wisdom's attention is "A Girl In the Valley" by Marsha Norman & Lucy Simon from the Secret Garden musical.
> 
> "Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit" is indeed latin, translated as given. I got it from Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman" comics series, but it's apparently a more generally famous saying.
> 
> The line of poetry EQ recites to Solas is from Rudyard Kipling's "The Sack of the Gods".


	22. Grave Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something wrong about the Emerald Graves.
> 
> Ember and Solas are both agitated by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer-than-usual wait. I was travelling! :D
> 
> The gaps may get a little longer, though, as I'm encroaching on unwritten material here, finally...

Oh gods, the Emerald Graves are a beautiful mess. I arrived this morning with Varric, The Iron Bull, Dorian, Solas, and Knight-Lieutenant Barris. We knew going in we’d have our work cut out for us. Barris isn’t really with my team - his assignment became to oversee our increasing efforts to establish control in the Graves, when it became clear the scope of the project.

Our first task was to find and meet with a gentleman named Fairbanks. He had holed up in a cave, the entrance to which was hidden halfway down a long, narrow canyon. Very defensible, but somewhat difficult to find. His guards started to give us grief when we showed up, because Leliana neglected to instruct us to wear overt Inquisition insignia, and they mistook Barris for a Red Templar. But my hand was, as usual, more than sufficient to prove my identity.

Fairbanks had barely a moment to talk with us. His settlement was in a frenzy over several of their people having been captured by the ever-obnoxious Freemen of the Dales. It turns out, those assholes were recruited by the Red Templars. Why am I not surprised?

Fairbanks assured me that he would have more time to talk after the current crisis was settled, so I offered the Inquisition to help settle the crisis, of course. We need to finish mapping out the current situation in the Graves anyway, and we know there’s a fair bit of Red Templar activity to monitor. If some allied captives are freed along the way, so much the better.

I could tell we were going to be there a while.

\-----

There is something very wrong here in the Graves. I suppose with a name like that, I shouldn’t be surprised the veil is especially thin. We’re literally walking on the bones of the centuries-long conflict between Orlais and the Dalish. Adding in rifts definitely isn’t helping, but I don’t think that’s what drove people away in the first place. This place is incredibly haunting. The land spirits here feel loud, but not very coherent.

The land itself is gorgeous. It’s very green here, but cold and wet. We’ve come across several abandoned Orlesian estates. I can’t say I’m in a hurry to bring the lordlings back to their summer homes; it doesn’t feel like it really belongs to them. It doesn’t even really feel like it belongs to the Dalish, honestly. It feels like it belongs to something older, deeper, lost, and very, very  _ angry _ . Pretty much every rift I’ve closed here has rage and despair demons.

\-----

Last night all my dreams were of getting into arguments with loved ones, both here and at home; screaming fits, irrational, and even violent. I know being here in Thedas has acclimated me to physical violence, but I’ve never dreamt of getting into combat against my own family before, even here.

I stood in the living room of my grandmother’s house - the one she had when I was a child - my extended family going about their business of whatever holiday we were celebrating. They were ignoring me, my sister, and my mother entirely as we screamed at each other. I don’t even remember now what we were screaming about.

The next thing I knew, my sister had somehow pulled out a giant wooden spoon the size of one of Bull’s war axes, and started to swing it at me. I automatically raised my arm to block, and found myself suddenly wearing silverite bracers with intricate vine filigree. My mother began screaming at me (which she has literally never _ actually _ done) for “giving in to them”, and proceeded to hand my sister a large, jagged shield covered in an untanned hide.

I realized my own hands were holding a pair of large daggers. I looked down at the offset-leaf-shaped blades, serrated along the spine. They were glowing blue with inlaid lyrium.

I looked up again and my sister and mother’s eyes were both glowing red. I screamed at them, suddenly furious, and began stabbing wildly at my mother, while my sister beat on my back with the wooden spoon.

Suddenly the room was clear, and I collapsed onto the carpet, exhausted, my eyes flooded with unshed tears. I rolled over and looked up to find a handsome - if blurry - elf standing over me.

“Solas! What are you doing here?” I gasped, startled.

He reached a hand down to help me stand. His own winter-blue eyes were filled with confusion and concern. “I felt your distress through the fade. Your companions seem to have fended off the worst of the demons, but when I looked in, I found you fighting. Forgive me, should I not have intervened?”

“No, no, it’s good, thank you,” I sighed, catching my breath, only to wince as the overwhelming relief collapsed into shame and sorrow.

Solas grasped my shoulders in concern. “Those women looked like kin to you. What troubles you?”

“That… that was my sister and our mom. I haven’t seen either of them in I don’t know how long, and the first time I dream of them, we’re trying to kill each other? What…?”

“This land is deeply scarred,” he explained quietly. “It is possible you are picking up on that distress even without the more dangerous spirits being able to reach you.”

“It… it feels like I’ve failed them, and I don’t even know who ‘they’  _ are _ ,” I wailed in frustrated distress, tears streaming down my face. “I’m just so overwhelmed. It’s all just... loss and failure and anger and pain and... Solas, there’s just so much  _ pain _ .”

He pulled me into a hug, tucking my head under his chin and squeezing me gently. “I know,  _ da’len _ , I know,” he whispered.

\-----

The next morning, I crawled out of my tent and pulled my sleep-destroyed braid apart to smooth it out, putting it up into a bun for the day. I probably looked worse than usual, and I’ve never been great at waking up as it is.

“How did the night treat you, Ember?” Dorian asked me. He came out of the tent he and the Iron Bull were sharing, already immaculate. Does he use magic to avoid bedhead or something? It’s  _ so _ not fair.

I groaned, “I feel like I could retire and spend the rest of my life appeasing the spirits here, and it would never be enough.”

“I don’t envy you people dreams,” Varric laughed wryly, shaking his head as he stepped out of the tent he shared with Solas. “Having to go into the fade every single night? No thank you.”

“I’ve never known another way,” Dorian shrugged.

I smiled tiredly. “I know I would miss my dreams if they stopped. I’ve been a dreamworker all my life. Just having a few days where I  _ don’t _ remember my dreams is upsetting.”

“Does that actually happen?” Dorian asked, with obvious curiosity.

“It hasn’t happened since I joined the Inquisition, at least,” I said. “I’m finding the fade especially... _ vivid _ .”

The Iron Bull and Solas approached us, carrying plates of food for everyone. “Solas here knew which local plants were edible,” Bull explained, “so this should be pretty good.”

I smiled at Solas, lifting my plate in appreciation. He nodded, smiling back.

“Anyway,” I continued, between bites of seasoned scrambled eggs, “I think we’re going to have to find some way to smooth things over with the local spirits, beyond just closing the rifts.”

“That may be impossible,” Solas replied. He almost sounded apologetic. “The wounds in this land are very old.”

“I know, but I have to try, y’know? Sometimes all it takes is somebody caring enough to really listen.”

“I doubt I can be much help, but do let me know if I’m mistaken,” Dorian offered. Varric and Bull nodded in agreement.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet, guys. Things are so different here, I can’t just do what I’d have done at home. I think we need to find Hawen’s First.”

Solas sighed, his expression heavy with irritated disappointment.

I rolled my eyes, slightly, and smirked at Solas. “What _ is _ your issue with the Dalish anyway, dude? I’d have thought you’d appreciate their endurance and desire to preserve their culture.”

“They are like children, acting out stories misheard and repeated a thousand times,” he replied, testily.

I blinked, tilting my head in confusion for a moment. “So… you’re upset their grasp of Elvhen history is flawed? Isn’t that kind of inevitable?”

He lifted his head. “While they pass on stories, mangling details,  _ I  _ walk the fade. I have seen things they have not.”

“But you said yourself, the fade only represents the subjective perspectives of the time. Is it any more perfect a record than living memory?”

“It is more accurate than a bedtime story passed through a hundred generations, losing pieces as they go!” he objected with surprising passion. Whatever this was about, it was obviously very upsetting.

“Solas,” I replied calmly, “they are doing the best they can with what they have. It’s not like they can trust their oppressors to give them unbiased information. Dreamers like us are few, far between, and dangerous to keep around.”

“That’s not the point!” he snapped, and then shut his mouth abruptly with an audible click. There was something he wasn’t telling me, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

I frowned, and slowed down a bit. He was obviously genuinely upset for some reason. This was personal for him. “Okay. So, what  _ is _ the point, then? What am I missing here?”

He just shook his head, closing his eyes. I could tell he was trying to regain his temper.

“Well, maybe I’m off base here, but... “ I glanced around to make sure we were alone, and dropped my volume. “Back home, my religious tradition is reconstructionist. We’re picking up the pieces of history as best we can, to honor our gods after centuries of it being forbidden. There are many who believe we shouldn’t bother, that the gods are dead. There are also plenty who believe that the only proper way to honor the gods is the way they were honored by our ancestors before they had to stop. But that makes  _ no sense _ to me. A tradition is not alive if it does not grow and change with the world around it. Even if we could perfectly recreate what our ancestors did, it wouldn’t be what we need to do  _ now _ .”

Solas frowned, thoughtfully, but said nothing. Dorian watched me with interest, while Bull held his usual nonchalant posture, but was no doubt listening just as closely. Varric, of course, was taking notes. I could only hope he had codes or something for when I talked about home.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “Anyway, my point is, I get the impression the Dalish are in a similar boat. They have only scraps of history to hold onto, and are opposed by the main culture around them at every turn. The Chantry has done everything they can to bury or destroy any accurate evidence of their history and culture. They never had a chance to get it really right by their ancestors’ standards. But even if they  _ had _ preserved it perfectly, what their ancestors did then would be wrong now, because that would mean nothing had changed when  _ everything _ has changed.”

Solas screwed up his face, as if in pain. “But even what they  _ have  _ preserved is wrong!” he lamented, and then let out his breath and sat up to take on a professorial posture. “Take their  _ vallaslin _ , the markings on their faces. Do any of them today even remember that those were originally  _ slave markings _ ?”

I frowned. I hadn’t heard  _ that _ anywhere, and I’d been learning as much as I could get my hands on about the Dalish as fast as possible. But I’m an outsider, and new to the topic even with the Inquisition’s resources. Perhaps it was simply a truth they kept well guarded? A coming of age ritual mystery, even?

I shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” he declared. “The Dalish claim to value their freedom beyond all else, and yet walk about every day of their adult lives marked as slaves!” 

I nodded emphatically, “Okay. So they reclaimed the symbols of their oppression, took control, changed the meaning. Oppressed peoples do that all the time, Solas _. _ ” I looked at him expectantly, but he just looked back at me, baffled and horrified.

I sighed. “Back home, we’ve all but abolished slavery. There’s still illegal smuggling, but it used to be openly sanctioned in my country. The way my ancestors treated the people with dark skin like Madame Vivienne was absolutely  _ horrific _ . They packed captured slaves into the holds of ships, shackled so close together they couldn’t even move. On the way across the ocean, many would get sick, or starve to death. If they ran into trouble, they would just push them overboard, all chained together, sick and healthy alike, to drown.”

Solas was nodding, his expression grim. I looked at Dorian. He was frowning, and staring at the campfire, obviously listening, but equally obviously deeply uncomfortable.

I nodded and continued. “Along the way, almost all would have their hair grow and tangle into felted, lumpy strands they called ‘dreadlocks’. Today, some of their descendants  _ deliberately _ roll their hair into tidy, stylish dreadlocks, knowing full well the history of their people. It became part of their culture of survival.”

I looked at Solas expectantly again, but he just shook his head, confused, still distressed. The Iron Bull was smiling grimly. Dorian wouldn’t look at me.

I turned back to Solas. “Don’t you see? They don’t do it to place themselves in their ancestors’  _ chains _ . They do it to take pride in their hard-won  _ freedom _ . They do it because they refuse to conform to what their oppressors find acceptable, or let us pretend everything is fine now, that they aren’t still oppressed today when they totally are.”

I looked between the four of them, from face to face. Had I said too much? Dorian looked like he was trying to remember something important. The Iron Bull was leaning back with his hands behind his head, watching Dorian and Solas with calm interest. Varric was biting his lip and scribbling notes furiously.

Solas was staring at my face, but not really seeing me. His gaze passed through me. Finally his eyes focused on mine, and he spoke quietly. “I… don’t know if I can accept that after all that I have d-” he stumbled for a moment, took a deep breath and started again. “After all that I have seen.”

My eyebrows furrowed, and I frowned slightly. “Which is more important to who the Dalish are today, Solas? What you’ve seen, or what they’ve  _ lived _ ?”

He shook his head and replied so quietly it was almost a whisper, “There is much you do not understand. But perhaps there is more for me to understand as well.”

I grimaced, covering my face with my hands in sudden embarrassment. “Aww, frell, I’m  _ humansplaining _ , aren’t I? Fuck, Solas, forget I said anything. If you and the Dalish don’t get on, well, who is a human like me to complain?”

He closed his eyes and, to my surprise, chuckled lightly. “You show more sympathy for elves than some elves we know, Ember.”

“Sera!” I groaned, “Low bar, but thanks anyway. I’m just going to go find a cave to hide in, don’t mind me!” I stood up, only for all four men to object vocally at once. “Relax, guys, I’m just going to wash up. I’ll be fine.”

\-----

Solas found me sitting beside the stream, muttering to myself in anxious embarrassment, and sketching in my journal. He sat down next to me, and for a while, said nothing. I waited, biting my tongue, and focusing on my work.

When Solas still did not speak, seeming content to keep me company as I worked, I allowed myself to slowly lean into him until our sides were touching. When the sketch was done, I showed it to him: a path through an overgrown forest, younger versions of my sister and me stopping to dig out a stepping stone.

“Where is this?” he asked, taking the journal from me to examine the image more closely and then look up and around searching for my inspiration.

“Just something from my dream this morning, after you disrupted my nightmares. Thank you for that, by the way.”

He handed my journal back to me, smiling sadly. “You are welcome. And… thank you.”

I raised my eyebrows, questioning. That was not what I’d expected him to say, after our last interaction. I thought he’d want to take me to task for being insensitive, sticking my fat human nose where it doesn’t belong. Not that I’d ever heard him call anyone a “ _ shem _ ”. 

He looked down at his hands, and sighed. “For taking the time to explain your thoughts on the Dalish to me. Many have argued with me, hated me for offering the knowledge I have to them, and denied my requests to exchange deeper teachings with their Keepers. I have been thrown out of more than one Dalish camp. Few have ever truly tried to  _ explain _ why they are the way they are, demanding that I accept their culture as the most truly Elvhen today, or leave.” He shook his head, half smiling, but with sad eyes.

As he continued, he spoke with increasing agitation. “And that was the ones who were polite enough to leave it at words. In my experience the Dalish are insular to a fault, as likely to attack me as they are to simply warn me away, much less welcome me in. As if my lack of markings makes me no better than a -” He cut himself off abruptly.

I smirked knowingly.

Solas flushed slightly, and let his breath out slowly, before adding, “Thus I concluded - perhaps rashly - that they were ignorant of their own history and reasons, and their traditions were similarly flawed.”

I frowned. If he’d gone in attempting to impose his perspective on them, and demanding access to their secrets, I’m not surprised they rejected him. It sounded like he meant well, but had he gone in like that so-called demon expert from the Circle, all arrogance and, well,  _ pride _ ?

_ Meh. Like I should talk. _

I shrugged. “Well, I mean, I’m glad to help if I can, but I’m not Dalish, I can’t  _ really _ explain them. At some point we’re going to have to hear it from their own perspective if we really want to understand.”

He shook his head. “I fear that is a gap that will never truly be bridged, Inquisitor. But tell me more of your dream. Perhaps there is some wisdom to be gained from it?”

I smiled, accepting the personal truce, and the proposed challenge, and began recounting my dream to him.

\-----

It took us several days to establish the usual system of camps. There were rifts all over the damned place, one area was infested with more huge bears than the Hinterlands, and another was infested with frelling cyclopean giants! Well, Solas did warn me they were endemic to the area, I suppose. We heard, but blessedly never  _ saw _ , a high dragon. This area is so sparsely populated, maybe we won’t have to hunt that one down. It can’t be good for the world to go around killing all their natural apex predators.

We did find Taven, Keeper Hawen’s First. He had taken a small team of hunters to investigate a historic tomb from the early days of the elves holding the Dales as sovereign territory. The Emerald Knights are buried there, apparently. Or, well, some of them. We found quite a few grave cairns for others among the trees nearby.

We offered Taven Inquisition protection and assistance in exchange for any information he might find that would help our cause, but he refused. I’ve asked the scouts to keep an eye out for his team anyway. With so many Red Templars and cyclopes nearby, I felt like they’re in more danger than they might realize.

Hopefully I can find ways to earn his trust as I did his clanmates. He seems like a good sort, though the hunters he had with him refused to even speak to me, much less tell me their names. I did tell them that they were welcome at any Inquisition camp if they found themselves in need of help, and to simply tell them Ember sent them if anyone gave them trouble. I doubt they’ll take me up on it, but at least they have the option if something goes wrong.

\-----

“Inquisitor!”

I looked up from where I’d been sitting, meditating, to find Taven standing over me, grinning.

“First!” I grinned back, “To what do I owe the honor?”

“It’s just Taven, Inquisitor. Only the Hahren and Keeper have titles.”

“Ah, thank you. I wasn’t sure, and didn’t wish to be disrespectful.”

Taven gave me an odd look, and then cleared his throat. “I didn’t wish to ask in front of my hunters, but you said you’ve spoken with Keeper Hawen recently. Can you tell me how the clan is doing?”

I nodded, understanding. The First asking a stray human how their own clan is doing probably wouldn’t go over well with the people who protect them from outsiders.

I shrugged. “He’s disgruntled, honestly. They’re stuck in the Dirth beside the river until we can restore enough of the roads for their aravels. We were able to clear the stray spirits out of the… oh what was it called? Var Bella-something? Your sacred burial grounds.”

“Var Bellanaris,” he offered, smirking.

“Var Bellanaris,” I repeated dutifully, nodding. “Thank you. We were able to refill some of their depleted stores, but I could tell they were all pretty uncomfortable anyway. Keeper Hawen was distressed at your departure.”

Taven laughed ruefully, “I know. We argued before I left. But I couldn’t let all those human mages escaped from the Circles get to our history before we did, could I now? What if there’s some artifact they could use against us?”

I frowned. “I’m less worried about the rebel mages, as they’re working with the Inquisition now. I’m more worried about the Venatori from Tevinter and the corrupted Red Templars. Both groups have been scouring Elvhen ruins for artifacts, and I doubt they’re differentiating between ancient and Dalish. That’s why I offered protection. You’re not just an ambient target, you’re in direct competition, and they have a lot of power.”

“These Venatori, they’re your enemies?”

“Well, I’d argue that they’re  _ everyone’s _ enemies, since they’re serving the monster that tore that hole in the sky, but yes, the Inquisition is working directly against them, and they want me, in particular.”

Taven smirked. “You’re trusting me with that? How do you know I won’t just give you over to them?”

“I find it hard to imagine a Dalish elf working with Tevinter slavers,” I replied candidly.

He scowled and nodded. “Too right. Alright, Inquisitor, I’ve seen your scouts watching us. If you and Keeper Hawen get on, then I’ll trust they’re protecting us, not just spying. If you let us keep any artifacts we find, I’ll make sure you know if we find anything that you could use against the slavers. Fair enough?”

“More than fair, Taven.”

“Inquisitor!” Dorian’s voice called from our small travel camp.

“My apologies Taven,” I winced. “Another time?”

Taven nodded, smiling, and departed into the trees, disappearing with surprising speed.

“Inquisitor! There you are,” Dorian arrived slightly out of breath. “If we want to reach the Pavilion today, we should get moving, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. So much for meditating. “Okay, let’s go.”

\-----

Aaaaand we found a dragon in the Emerald Graves. Because of course we did.

At least this one isn’t anywhere near a population center. We can leave it alone for now.

I don’t think there’s much more I, personally, can do to help here in the Graves right now. As much as it pains me to leave things so unsettled here, we need to head back to Skyhold tomorrow.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There maaaaaay be a side story brewing here. But it's not very far along, so that one's gonna be a while.


	23. Crushed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember and Solas are both rather anxious, but possibly not for the same reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is, admittedly, a collection of scenes that didn't really fit anywhere else in this general part of the story. Hopefully each scene is worthwhile in its own right, even if the chapter overall doesn't entirely flow. :]

“ _Toma una tableta fría,”_ I muttered to myself derisively. Dorian, Bull and I were waiting in the Hinterlands for Sera to get back from reconnaissance on the Grand Forest Villa, which was infested with strangely avoidant, well-supplied bandits.  

I’ve always been an anxious creature at the best of times, and there’s plenty to set off my nerves here in Thedas, even standing in one of our relatively secure camps in the Hinterlands. But dammit, I have work to do, I can’t afford to pause to fend off a panic attack every fifteen minutes!

The Iron Bull and Dorian both looked at me strangely. “‘Take a frozen tablet’?” Dorian asked.

“Fuck, that’s Antivan here, isn’t it?” I grumbled quietly, and then raised my voice to reply. “It’s just a bad joke from home. We say ‘Take a Chill Pill’ in Eng... er, Trade. It means ‘calm the fuck down’, basically. When I was learning _Antivan_ , I taught myself the translation. I know it doesn’t mean anything literally, so only people who speak both languages and know the phrase will understand how ridiculous it is. It’s stupid, I know.” I ducked my head down, more embarrassed than I should have been thanks to the stupid anxiety attack I had yet to fend off. _(I wonder if they have Damiana here in Thedas? I know they have mead…)_

“Personal jokes are supposed to be stupid, Boss,” Bull laughed. “You’ve heard the crap Krem and I toss around.”

I swallowed, and took a deep breath, and then looked up at them. Dorian looked amused and concerned. Bull’s eye was creased at the corner with humor. _(Oh gods, what a terrible pun! I should find out of the center of a target is called that here. If it is, Sera could paint concentric circles on his eyepatch for a prank!)_

“Hey, do... do you guys want to learn how to take a chill pill?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, half-smiling, “Are you being naughty, Inquisitor?”

I rolled my eyes. Sera came back just in time to join the wrong part of the conversation, because _of course she did_.

“Quizzie-knickers is being naughty? Finally got that threesome you’ve been needing, aye?” the blond elf laughed.

I rolled my eyes again, shaking my head. “Pretty sure I’d find you in my bedroll long before Dorian would show up there, Sera.”

“Damn right you would! Tease!” she retorted, grinning back, and reaching around my waist with one arm affectionately.

“Sorry!” I replied, immediately abashed, my previous anxiety flooding back suddenly.

Sera frowned, and tightened her grip on my waist. “Hey, no sorry. We’re flirting, right? That’s us.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” I pulled away from her, holding my arms up in front of me only to drop them again, shoulders hunched. My containment was slipping. Tears slid down my cheek, as I clenched my hands into painful fists. All three of my companions stopped their preparations and looked at me with concern.

“Time to sing, Boss,” the Iron Bull prompted, gently, standing right in front of me to block out the world.

“Sing, right, sing,” I nodded. I closed my eyes, trying to center and ground my buzzing energy. I took a deep breath, and when that came bursting out of my mouth too quickly, I took another, slower breath, counting to four silently as I inhaled. I exhaled even more slowly, my lips curled as if to whistle, again counting silently, to eight.

Then I squared my shoulders, opened my eyes, and started singing.

 _“Alegría! Come un lampo di vita_  
_Alegría! Come un pazzo gridar_  
_Alegría! Del delittuoso grido_  
_Bella ruggente pena seren_  
_Come la rabbia di amar_  
_Alegría, come un assalto di gioia ”_

I opened my eyes as I finished the verse.

“Better?”

“Yes, Bull. Thank you,” I replied.

“Where did you learn a song in Tevene?” Dorian asked. “I’ve never heard that particular dialect before.”

“That may just be my accent. It’s from home. There are two other verses in, um… well, Trade and Antivan, I guess?”

I glanced at Sera, who hadn’t reacted. If she’d picked up on the strangeness of my origins, she wasn’t showing it. Knowing Sera, the distinct lack of lizards in my bedroll meant she hadn’t caught it yet.

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” Dorian concluded smoothly, also glancing at Sera.

Sera looked at me, smirking. “So what’s it in words that mean something?”

I shrugged and took a deep breath.

 _"Alegría, I see a spark of life shining_  
_Alegría, I hear a young minstrel sing_  
_Alegría! Beautiful, roaring scream_  
_Of joy and sorrow, so extreme._  
_There is a love in me raging_  
_Alegría! A joyous, magical feeling.”_

She wrinkled her nose. “But what’s _‘alegría’_?”

“The state of happiness, I think.”

“Then why don’t they just say it, like a normal person?”

“Because _‘alegría ’_ is prettier,” Bull rumbled, amused.

I looked around at my three companions and smiled sheepishly, calmer, but not quite back to normal. “So, um, do you want to learn how to take a chill pill now?”

The Iron Bull smiled indulgently, “Sure, Boss. How do you take a chill pill?”

I smiled back. “Okay, so hold out your fingers like this.” I gestured as though I was holding an invisible pill between my index finger and thumb. They all gestured obligingly.

“Now, that’s your chill pill, in your hand. Next, toss it up into the air, like this-” I moved my hand up, releasing the invisible pill into the air, “-and catch it in your mouth.” I tilted my head back, mouth open, and then closed it, my teeth clicking audibly as my jaw snapped shut.

Sera followed along, grinning, and the Iron Bull did the same after watching her. Dorian just waited for the rest of the instructions, eyebrow raised.

“Then you swallow!” I demonstrated an exaggerated gulp. Sera and the Iron Bull followed suit. “And then you laugh, because don’t you feel silly now?” I gave them a huge, cheesy grin.

Sera laughed, and the Iron Bull looked to Dorian expectantly. Dorian rolled his eyes, “Oh, very well,” he sighed dramatically, and then repeated the gestures with flourish. I applauded, and he bowed, finally smiling with us.

“Thank you for indulging me, Dorian,” I said.

“How could I refuse?”

“Well, you do have a fabulous reputation to maintain. I wouldn’t want to impinge.”

Dorian tilted his chin up, haughtily, one hand smoothing the corner of his mustache. “Hardly, my dear. I make _everything_ look fabulous!”

“I stand corrected!” I laughed.

“Oi!” Sera interrupted, “Standing! Are we just? Or are we hunting bandits?”

“Right. Sorry, Sera.”

“Less sorry, more sneaky!” the blonde elf announced, ducking under a branch to show us a hidden path to our target. The Iron Bull nodded, and gestured for Dorian and I to follow her, so he could guard our backs.

As we walked, Dorian turned his free hand over repeatedly in what looked like a nervous gesture, white sparks flying from his fingers. I watched, curiously, as what looked like a grain of hail manifested between his index finger and thumb, and then disappeared into icy sparks. I smiled, silently, making a mental note to ask him for instructions when we returned to camp.

\-----

I caught up with Cullen again today, for a game of regular chess. Or rather, for games on a regular chessboard.

“I don’t think I’m improving very much,” I sighed.

“You have a lot on your mind,” he reassured me.

“True, but I don’t think that’s it. I think my mind works the wrong way for chess. When I see the board and the pieces, I don’t see combat tactics, I see tessellations and fractals.”

“What do you mean?”

“May I?” I gestured to the half-finished game, and he nodded, obviously curious.

I removed all the pieces and then handed him eight pawns.

“Those are all queens. Now place all eight of them on the board such that none of them can capture another in the next move.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, immediately setting to work on the puzzle I’d presented to him, and muttering to himself. “With eight rows and columns, there could never be more than eight queens on the board this way. The answer must be precise.”

“I only know one answer. Mirrored and rotated four ways, but only the one answer, really.”

“Only four ways? So it’s symmetrical then?”

“Ooh, sorry, spoiler!” I winced guiltily, but he smiled, pleased with himself for catching the unintended hint.

“The knight is the only piece that can attack a queen without being vulnerable first…” he mused. I nodded, smiling.

Solas and Dorian came striding across the garden, cheerfully debating some finer point of fade magic as they approached.

“Ah, Inquisitor, there you are!” Dorian began, but I put a finger up to my lips, and gestured to Cullen’s focused expression.

Both mages approached more quietly to look over our shoulders at the board. Solas tilted his head the way he does when something catches his curiosity, and then nodded suddenly.

“Eight queens?”

I nodded, smiling. “I wanted to show him one of my favorite chess puzzles from home.”

“Aha!” Cullen placed the last pawn with an audible click. “I believe I have it. How is this, Ember?”

I checked the board over, two sets of four pieces, each a knight’s move away from the next.

“That is the solution I remember, yes.”

“There are other solutions, but that is the only symmetrical one, barring rotations and reflections,” Solas agreed.

I nodded, and then shrugged. “Anything other than this, I’d just be brute-forcing the solution. This kind of solution makes intuitive sense to me.”

“You play chess, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked.

“As I was just explaining to the Commander here, I know how, but my mind does the wrong things with it. This puzzle makes perfect sense to me. A chess game, not so much.”

“Truly? Fascinating.”

“Do you play, Dorian?” I asked.

“This, and several variants of hex chess, as well,” he agreed enthusiastically. 

Cullen perked up. “Would you care for a game, then? That is, if it isn’t interrupting anything.”

“With such a handsome opponent to gaze upon? How could I refuse?” Dorian replied with his usual flourish. Cullen blushed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. I grinned, and ceded my seat to the Tevinter mage.

“Was there something you needed, Solas, or shall we stay and watch the epic battle?” I asked cheekily.

“I have time if you do. It will be interesting to see their strategic minds at work, do you not agree?”

“Assuming I can follow the game just by watching it, yes!” I laughed. “But I’ll be right back. I want to get my journal and we need a couple more chairs!”

\-----

After the game, Solas asked to speak with me privately for a bit, so we went up to my balcony.

He wanted to know if the mark on my hand had changed my personality, my ethics and beliefs, my perspective.

I looked at my left hand, thinking. “Well, I’ve had the mark for as long as I can remember here in Thedas, so it’s kind of hard to tell which effects are the mark vs. just being here. Being here has definitely changed my _perspective_ , but I think my beliefs and ethics are pretty stable.” I shrugged. “Why?”

"You show a wisdom I have not seen since…” he stumbled, “... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the fade.”

Ashes hissed in my ear again, needlessly. I raised an eyebrow at that blatant cover. I’m not sure why he feels a need to hide his obvious age, but I suppose it probably would make him seem like more of a threat to most people, given what the average Thedosian human thinks of mages and elves.

I couldn’t figure out what to say about it, and he quickly moved on. “You are not what I expected."

I bit my lip, resisting the urge to blurt out ‘ _No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!’_ and shrugged again. “What were you expecting?”

"Humans are short-sighted, brutish, blind to the beauty of the fade, their minds cast in a duality of black and white. But you have shown a subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people." His eyes were wide, as if this were a profound revelation to him somehow.

I tilted my head, frowning. “Is that really just humans, though? Isn’t it kind of everybody? Seeking a third path takes resources not everyone has. Nobody is _born_ educated. If everything around you is built into dualities, polarities, all-or-nothing ultimatums, where are you supposed to pick it up from?”

“Exactly my point, Inquisitor. I expected you to be one of the many who had not learned such subtlety, and yet here you are.”

"You may well be the first person ever to describe me as subtle,” I laughed, shaking my head, and then looking out across the mountains for a moment before turning back to him. “I've been very lucky - privileged, really. My parents had the resources to provide me with an excellent education, and passed their love of learning on to me. So, if I seem especially elevated, it's just that I'm standing on the shoulders of giants."

“Then I suppose we are very lucky it was you who came here.” His brow was furrowed, but his lip pulled up to one side. Something was still confusing him.

“Assuming it was luck that brought me here, sure." I shrugged and met his eyes, curious. "What brought this up, Solas?”

He still seemed pensive, maybe even a little nervous. He took a deep breath and replied. “I simply wished to say that I... respect you deeply, Inquisitor. And I have disturbed you enough for one evening.” And he promptly walked away, as though his feet were on fire.

“No, it’s fine- Solas, wait!” But he either didn’t hear me, or didn’t care. I shook my head, watching him leave, scrunching my eyebrows and trying not to cry. Had I said something wrong? What was it going to take to get him to trust me with the obvious? No doubt he’s had a very long lifetime of secrets to keep, but it would be nice if he respected my intelligence as much as he claimed to respect my so-called wisdom.

\-----

Project Emberhugs is helping, even though I only get a few brief hugs here and there from my friends. Varric and Sera were fine with it, as I expected, although I've had to admonish Sera not to grab my ass, please, several times now. Dorian, in particular, turns out to be totally into all the friendly, fabulous hugs, and even just sitting around treating each other like furniture. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friendship like that, and I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing it. I gather from the way Dorian and Krem each act around people they trust that it’s just cultural - Tevinter is less touch-averse than, say, Ferelden.

Speaking of Fereldens, Cullen had to check with me several times whether I was _sure_ I wanted him to hug me before relaxing into the occasional embrace, the great doof. Josephine and Leliana have also taken to hugging me hello and goodbye. I was not expecting that. Even Cassandra is participating, though not when anyone is looking. ( _Especially_ not in front of Varric, heh.) So I'm not as skin starved as I was, which is nice, because it makes me a lot less sensitive to sensory triggers.

It's just Solas that's really getting to me. He doesn't offer to hug me very often, and I don't get up the guts as often as I should, except when Dorian all but orders me to go get an elfy hug from our resident stick-in-the-fade. Dorian seems to think Solas and I should hug a lot more often. Of course, Dorian thinks I should just drag Solas to bed and have done with it, in the hopes that Solas will loosen up. Why he thinks _I’m_ the candidate for that, I’m not sure. He just looks at me like I’m crazy whenever I ask him to explain.

On the rare occasions Solas actually _does_ hug me, it's a whole-body, tight embrace, and he buries his nose in my hair, and it's just the warmest, most comforting thing. It's relaxing and at the same time, rejuvenating. I feel more awake and focused and _well_. I’m pretty sure he’s not using magic on me. I think we just have really compatible energy.

Or, y’know, I could have a tiny, little, _gigantic_ crush on him.

I don’t think that’s mutual, though. All our actual interactions are still platonic. It's not like he's taking it anywhere I haven't explicitly requested. I suspect he's just appreciating having someone he can trust with any touch at all, really. It's obvious he's even less used to being touched than I am, and needs it at least as much as I do, so I'm loathe to back off.

I’m getting painfully confused where the boundaries actually are between us, though. Like, with Dorian, it’s easy. Yeah, he’ll drape on me until the end of the day, but I know flat out that he’s not attracted to my body shape or default gender presentation. Or with the Iron Bull, I know the boundary is fine wherever I put it, because he's up for just about anything, but isn't hung up about it.

But Solas? I can’t tell what’s going on with him _at all_. Is he Ace? Demi? Gay? Really good at keeping a raging libido under wraps? I’ve never seen him hit on anybody at all. He only flirts in very specific contexts where it looks more like a social contest, a competitive game, than anything meant to establish a connection.

I don’t know. The point is probably moot, though. Once this is over, I need to go home. All the reasons I gave to Bull and Josie as to why I shouldn’t get involved with anyone still apply. Even if he were interested, it’s probably better for him if I don’t go there.

No, that's not fair. I’m not supposed to take responsibility for other people’s choices. He knows I'm not from here, that I miss my sweeties and want to go home. He knows nothing with me would be a long-term thing here. He has as much right to accept a short-term relationship as I do. As long as I'm honest with him.

Gah! This is so stupid! I don’t have bandwidth for this, anyway! We’re rarely even in Skyhold, and I’m not going to subject my field team to tent shenanigans when they’re trying to get some sleep, and we're just going to see each other in the fade anyway, to geek out about magic, theology, and history. A romantic relationship _without_ the physical wouldn’t be all that different from the friendship we already have.

… 

Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Alegria" is from Cirque du Soleil


	24. Ball Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition prepares for a royal ball.

"Alright, so the ball at the Winter Palace. Who needs to go, who wants to go, who  _ should _ go?” I began, looking around at my advisers. “Obviously,  _ we _ all have to go,” I said, gesturing to Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana, “and I think you should be there too for the same reason, Cullen. The Iron Bull is my bodyguard, so he goes where I go. I'm sure Madame Vivienne doesn't need our invitation. She will be there regardless no doubt, so perhaps we should let her choose how she wants to represent us there.”

"Given a choice,” I continued, “I'd like to bring as diverse a group as possible, to emphasize that the Inquisition really is for  _ everyone _ . We've already got humans, Qunari, Mages, Templars, and Seekers, Orlais, Ferelden, Nevarra, and Antiva, and everything from distant royalty to former servants.” I ticked the groups off on my fingers. “Blackwall can represent the Wardens. Varric is surface Deshyr and a Marcher. Dagna is from Orzammar. Dorian is Tevinter, as is Krem. I'd like to bring at least one elf, preferably two, so the Dalish are represented separately. As much as I'd love to include the Avvar, I can't really imagine Amund at a masquerade, but I suppose we could ask. Thoughts?"

"Keep in mind that we can only bring so many with us, Ember," Josephine admonished.

Leliana shook her head. "While such a group will no doubt entertain the court, they would not take us seriously if they think us a circus.” She shrugged slightly, “And I doubt Dagna or Amund would be interested. Blackwall will likely balk as well, as he does not enjoy crowds, and the Orlesian nobility make him nervous. Sera would be more useful out of uniform. So might Solas, if he's willing. We could bring Loranil, but he isn’t quite ready for such an event, and would simply be on display, though that could be a useful distraction if we use him correctly. If that’s our goal, Bull's mage, Dalish, has more practice interacting with nobility. I doubt she’d be interested, but if you insist, I’m sure she’d accept an order."

" _ It's a bow _ ," I mimicked with a smirk. Then I frowned, "I can’t really imagine Dalish at an Orlesian ball, no. Honestly, I can’t imagine most of the chargers, other than Krem, but they’ve managed weirder jobs by far. Still, I’d prefer to be the most socially impaired person we bring along, please.”

“You are hardly socially impaired, Inquisitor. You are very charming,” Cassandra insisted, as if she was going to punch anyone who disagreed. Not that our stubborn Seeker was the best gauge of social skills either, really.

I gave her a wry smile and shrugged, and then looked at Leliana, brow furrowed. “You want Sera and Solas to blend in with the servants, I take it? That makes sense, if they're willing, but then we have no elves at all represented formally, and I think that's pretty important. Can I keep Solas and give you Sera? I'm sure she'd rather not wear a uniform anyway."

Leliana nodded.

"I do not know why you believe  _ my _ presence is required, Inquisitor," Cassandra spoke up again. The other three looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"You must be joking," said Josephine. "You are the Right Hand of the Divine, one of the two founders of the Inquisition. How could we possibly leave you out?"

"But I hold no rank of significance in the Inquisition! I'm just a field agent," the Seeker objected.

"So are most of the Inquisitor's list, and almost all of her inner circle," Cullen replied. “Duty calls, Cassandra. If I have to go, so do you.” She huffed in annoyance at him.

"You are the last known Seeker loyal to the Chantry. We need you, Cassandra," Leliana explained calmly. “Besides, you know anyone at court would love to be seen speaking with the  _ Hero of Orlais _ ,” she smirked.

"Oh, fine!" Cassandra threw up her hands in defeat. "I hate politics," she muttered. Cullen chuckled sympathetically.

"How many invitations do we have?" I asked the ambassador.

"Duke Gaspard has invited us to bring eight officers of the Inquisition, which will allow us to bring a few servants as well. I could possibly arrange one or two more, and as you've said, some could attain invitations in other ways, especially First Enchanter Vivienne, Leliana, and possibly Master Tethras. If they were to show up in Inquisition uniforms anyway, most would simply consider it well-played."

"Eight," I mused. "There's five of us, six with the Iron Bull. That leaves two. Solas, and Dorian, then, provided Varric can arrange another way? Bring in Sera and maybe Krem as servants?"

"Krem will not be seen as a servant in Halamshiral," Leliana replied. "All Winter Palace servants are elves. Charter and Ritts would be best, I think."

"That works," I agreed. "What about the uniforms?"

"With the help of Madame Vivienne's tailors, I have several designs to show you, Inquisitor," Josephine said. "You should wear a matching gown, however."

"Really?" I replied, startled. "I mean, that's fine, but why?"

"As the Inquisitor, and Herald of Andraste, you should stand out."

"That won't undermine our message of inclusion?" I asked.

"We must prioritize our message of power and relevance in order to accomplish our immediate goals," she explained, apologetically.

"Meh. Okay, fair enough." I started picturing beautiful ball gowns and grinned. "Do I get to help design my dress, then?"

Cassandra and Cullen looked surprised. Leliana laughed.

"If it pleases you, Ember, of course you may!" Josephine agreed with delight.

\-----

“Dance lessons, etiquette, court history and current events, and, of course, instruction in the Grand Game.” Josephine was rattling off the list of topics I’d need personal tutoring in to prepare for the Empress’s peace conference at the Winter Palace.

“I shouldn’t have too much trouble learning the dances, and I can handle history, but I admit the other topics are pretty daunting. I really don’t think we want me messing with the Grand Game.”

“I fear you have little choice in the matter, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied apologetically.

“Isn’t that why we have you?” I looked at the ambassador plaintively. I knew I was whining. I could only hope it was funny. 

She rolled her eyes, but she did respond to my cheeky grin with her own. “We will prepare you as best as we possibly can, Inquisitor. If you don’t trust yourself, trust us.”

“Of course. It’s just I’m pretty sure having a panic attack in the middle of meeting with the Empress is probably very poor form.”

“That’s what wine is for,” Varric offered, entering the room with Dorian and Vivienne.

“Not too much, of course, darling. You must always keep your wits about you,” Vivienne admonished.

“I’ve never been drunk on alcohol, dear Iron Lady,” I assured her.

“Not for lack of our trying, mind you,” Dorian laughed. “Even her favorite mead, she won’t drink more than a glass or two, and insists on sharing it around before switching to tea. It’s terribly inconvenient.”

“Ooh, that brings up a worrying point. There’s no such thing as closed drinks here. Do I need to worry about someone trying to slip me something at the ball?”

Vivienne nodded sagely, “I’m impressed you thought of it, Inquisitor. Yes, that’s possible. As you are a mage, we can teach you subtle ways to test your drink for malicious substances before you drink them. If you are ever in doubt, simply carry the drink until you can dispose of it. If the person trying to poison you is present, they will certainly notice, but they can not call you on it without tipping their own hand.”

“Give them something to focus on, a harmless fault, to distract them,” Varric added, “That way they’re less likely to notice if you slip.”

“I imagine I have countless faults to choose from on that front.”

“Never say so!” Dorian admonished.

“We can’t all be as  _ fabulous _ as you!” I laughed.

“Well, of course no one can be as fabulous as  _ me, _ ” he preened on cue.

Josephine cleared her throat. “Your greatest threats will rarely approach you directly without first watching you. The people you meet first will be those obliged to greet you, followed by those who want something  _ from _ you. This does not mean you should let your guard down, mind you. Some of them may be setting you up for later, giving your enemies ways to evaluate your reactions.”

That was worrying. I’m a pretty good judge of character back home, but I’m still the girl who, when my sisters told me ‘gullible’ wasn’t in the dictionary, replied, ‘Really? Weird.’

“So… should I avoid reacting? Feign different reactions? Cultivate false tells?”

Varric shook his head. “The best lies are simple, Pipes. You don’t have it in you to carry an elaborate story without messing it up. Of course, I suppose you could deliberately lie poorly about a wide variety of things as a confusion strategy, but that’s probably not helpful in your position.”

Josephine shook her head firmly. “No. The Inquisitor must appear beyond reproach and competent.”

“Must I, though? Wouldn’t it be just as effective to make it seem like I was just a puppet for the right and left hands?”

Vivienne considered this for a brief moment before rejecting it. “If they were obliged to offer us respect, perhaps, but we need to win them over.  _ You _ need to win them over. You can’t do that if they think you’re an imbecile, my dear.”

“I’m not sure I could pull off imbecile anyway. Ignorant, maybe. Naive, sure. Stupid I could never manage.”

“And you have long since failed at it regardless, Inquisitor,” Josephine agreed. “Your speech in Val Royeaux is well remembered. The court will be expecting the righteous Herald of Andraste. We cannot now deliver them a meek marionette.”

“Ah, yeah, not sure I can pull of meek for very long, either. Okay, look, I’m not a bad roleplayer, despite my personal foibles. Maybe the best way to get me through this is to treat it as a character.”

“This is another one of your weird things from home,” Varric observed.

I nodded. “Acting games. Everybody takes on a character to play. There are rules for what your character can and can not accomplish. Everybody dresses the part, and the game is on. But it’s just for fun, there’s not supposed to be real-world consequences or anything. It’s like performing a play without a script or audience. A grown-up version of children playing pretend.”

“And you played these games?”

“They were some of my favorite things to do, yes.”

“That explains a lot,” the dwarf laughed.

“Doesn’t it, though?” I grinned.

Josephine was watching me, thoughtfully. “It is not so different from being a bard, really. If you think you are up to the task, yes, we should construct the role of the Inquisitor for you to play at the ball. It should not be too far off from who you really are as the Inquisitor, mind you, but if we build it and train you correctly, it could be just the thing.” She looked up at Vivienne, and they both nodded slightly, their smiles growing.

“Then let us begin, shall we?”

\-----

Leliana, Vivienne, and I met in Josephine's parlor to discuss clothing designs for the grand ball. There were several different sketches of uniforms, and several color palettes spread out across her desk.

"The uniforms will have to be button-up, if Bull is to wear one," I began, setting aside designs that wouldn't work with his horns. "And it has to work for a wide variety of body shapes. I want everyone to be able to move freely, in case of emergency.” I stuck out my tongue at the color palettes. “I know we've been using the Seekers’ colors, but can we please not use red for the main uniform color?"

"Your own gown should not be red," Vivienne agreed, "it does your complexion no favors."

"That too. But also, I don't want us associated with the Red Templars, or blood magic."

"I had not considered that, Your Grace," Josephine apologized. "Red is a powerful color which would make us stand out among the crowd, especially with Empress Celene's preference for pale blues and greys this season."

"Maybe I could come up with some sketches," I replied.

"What do you think of shoes?" Leliana asked, her tone lighter than I'd ever heard before.

"I kind of hate them, actually. It's always been hard to find shoes that don’t hurt my feet."

"Awww," she hummed, sympathetically. "I  _ love _ shoes! You can learn a great deal about a person from their shoes."

"You could remove your boots now if it would be more comfortable," Josephine offered. “I can send for warm wash water for you to soak them in, even.”

I looked up at them, half-grinning. A foot soak sounded absolutely heavenly! "Well, it  _ would _ let me show you my tattoo."

She perked up at that, and sent for wash water immediately.

"We're losing focus, darling," Vivienne admonished, amused.

"Right, colors, sorry! What about green?"

"You would positively glow in a deep green velvet," Vivienne agreed. "It is not currently over-used, and it would remind those in the know of the source of your power." She gestured to my left hand.

"An excellent point. Green with gold, then, or silver?" Leliana asked.

"Well, gold implies the most influence, right? And Vivienne would look  _ amazing _ in gold!" I replied.

"It depends whether we're using golden dyes, or rare metals. There are far more valuable metals than gold where garments are concerned, and getting the right balance for a bright coppery silk to match your hair is more difficult than a golden-yellow color. There are rarer materials than silk, even."

"Maybe I should see what Dagna can cook up. That's bound to be unique."

"I have it!" Vivienne declared. "Your garments should include dragon materials. What better way to convey power and influence without impinging on noble heraldry?"

"They do come out kind of coppery once they're processed, don't they?" I agreed.

"And Varghest scales come out a rich green color," she added.

"Am I wearing a gown, or armor?"

"Done carefully, it should be both; a show of strength and grace," she said.

"Like your usual clothing," I replied, grinning.

"Precisely, my dear. Our dress uniforms could be Everknit wool with Aurum or Drakestone accents, to match your gown closely while serving more practical use."

"Will that work, Josie?"

"I believe it could, Your Grace," she agreed.

The wash water arrived, and I set about making my feet presentable, before showing the vines on my ankle to the three women. Green and wine-red vines with mottled leaves and golden symbols.

Leliana immediately began scheming. "Oohh, yes, green and bronze would be perfect for your gown. We should ensure that your slippers are sandals, and that your gown allows your ankles to be revealed occasionally. You will have everyone at the ball distracted from their machinations by competing for a glimpse of the art on your leg!"

“That could be the distraction Varric suggested I cultivate!” I agreed, relieved not to have to come up with a strange mannerism or potentially offensive flaw.

"Very elegant," the Enchanter approved.

"Thank you," I replied, sincerely. I turned to Leliana, "I know I keep asking this, but can I help design my shoes, please? There's a particular kind of dance shoe that I really miss."

"I would be glad to help you find the right shoes!" she agreed enthusiastically. I seriously had  _ no idea _ there was anything Leliana was this happy about.

Well, maybe nugs.

\-----

The weeks leading up to the ball were almost constant training and study for me personally. Everyone who was attending was given information on their roles, recent events, and Orlesian court etiquette, and fitted for uniforms. Those who were attending as guests were given dancing lessons, which I loved, but Cassandra and Cullen grumbled a fair bit. Well, Cassandra grumbled. Cullen seemed to specifically avoid grumbling if I was in the room, and was very cooperative in helping me practice following or back-leading with a taller partner. Not that I need a lot of help learning to back-lead. But I really should be willing and able to follow without my dance partner having to engage me in a battle of wills.

I had the extra homework of making sure that my History of Thedas education was sufficiently detailed where the Grand Game and the court of Orlais were concerned, as well as time spent with one or more of my mentors practicing my Inquisitor character. With Varric or Dorian it was fun. With Josephine it was perhaps too easy, as her own diplomatic tendencies presented me with little challenge. But playing the part with Vivienne or Leliana was nerve-wracking. They all encouraged me to practice with the others who would attend, so that everyone knew what to expect of me. Naturally, this made Cullen and Cassandra both incredibly uncomfortable, but the point was to get them over it before we attended the ball.

“How aloof am I supposed to be, though?” I worried to my favorite dwarf and ‘vint. “Charming usually includes flirtatious, but if I’m at all flirty with only a few people, that has implications and if I’m the wrong sort of flirty with everyone, that will make me seem like a harlot, right? But if I’m too aloof, people will think I’m just mimicking Madame de Fer.”

“Varric is likely the right amount of flirtatious for your purposes,” Dorian mused. “I suspect my style would get a woman in Orlais into more trouble than not. Varric manages to be charming without seeming  _ available _ . That’s more or less what you’re looking for, yes?”

“I think so?” My eyebrows were trying to meet in the middle of my forehead.

“Charming doesn’t have to be flirting. Emphasize flattery over innuendo, and you’ll have them eating out of your hands.” Varric suggested. “Think of them all as your audience, or as children.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong on either count,” Dorian agreed, rolling his eyes.

I groaned, putting my face in my hands, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Sure you can, Boss,” a deep voice came from behind me, and a huge, warm hand settled between my shoulder blades. I managed not to jump out of my skin at the unexpected contact, but I’m sure the Iron Bull felt me twitch, because he moved his hand up to my shoulder and squeezed gently but firmly, to reassure me.

“No, I can’t! I can  _ either _ observe  _ or _ interact, but not both at once. If I’m supposed to uncover a plot to assassinate the Empress, then I can’t also be charming the nobles. If I’m supposed to be watching for people trying to get under my skin, I can’t also be telling them a funny story.”

“Breathe, Boss. I  _ know _ you can do this. I’ve  _ watched _ you do this. You say you can’t multitask, but you do it all the time when you’re not second-guessing yourself. Trust your instincts. You’ve got good ones.”

“But all my instincts were developed back home, not in the palace of Halamshiral! What if they’re totally wrong there?”

“People are just  _ people _ ,” the Iron Bull reminded me. “Qunari, humans, elves, dwarves, ‘vints, Marchers, crazy-ass dreamwalkers from  _ Caliwhatever _ . People. You get people, Boss. You’ve got this.”

I took several deep breaths, my eyes closed, and then nodded and looked up at Varric and Dorian, putting one hand on Bull’s hand on my shoulder. “Okay, I can do this. Where were we?”

\-----

“Dagna, I have an idea,” I began, hesitantly.

“Ooh?” Dagna perked up. “What are we getting into now?”

“I’m not sure if it can work the way I think it should. I want a hairstick, or maybe a pair of hair sticks. Between them I want one to have a hidden stiletto, and one to function as wand - a miniature staff.”

“So you want a miniature staff, one end of which is a stiletto blade that hides in a sheath that you can wear as a hairstick?”

“Unless you need to make two matched sticks with different functions, yeah.”

“Miniature staff! I love it! You want fire? Lightning? Wait, no, it’s in your hair, better make it ice, huh.”

“Yes, thank you. It needs to go with my gown for Halamshiral, so dragonbone and varghest scale would be appropriate materials. We’re going for green and coppery.”

“I have just the thing. You’ll love it!”

\-----

The gown they created was surprisingly comfortable, and even more surprisingly  _ durable _ . They were taking no chances with my life at this ball, and I’m guessing they did not trust at all that I could defend myself if caught out entirely alone. Which, to be fair, is probably true.

The whole outfit was in varied shades of green and copper. The bodice cutout design of varghest scale against dragon hide resembled a stylized version of the Inquisition symbol, with the Chantry sun in the background dissolving into wavering green lines echoing the anchor as much as the sun. Green silk sleeves draped around my upper arm below the shoulder, down to the elbow. The skirts were a masterpiece of overlapping loose layers in green silk crepe with vines of copper embroidery. As I moved the layers split and fell. The effect was impressively reminiscent of the way a fade rift shimmers as it shifts. 

Leliana helped me design slippers based on the split-sole dance sandals I missed from home.

Dagna had created matching jewelry for me, including the hairsticks I requested, a necklace with five gently-glowing green stones to rest across my bare collarbone, and banded bracers to cover my forearms. The enchantments woven into the set reinforced my clothing, rendering it very difficult to stain with wine or blood (thanks Vivienne!) and covered me with a layer of barrier, effectively turning my own skin into armored hide, but of course, much softer to touch. The result made my skin look like it was covered in the barest layer of glitter.

The whole effect made me look sort of otherworldly, which, to be fair, is more accurate than anyone there is ever likely to know.

And the best part was that Varghests and Dragons are so damned huge, we probably didn’t use up a whole animal’s worth of either for all this. There was even a decent chance the materials came from supplies I was present for hunting. Josephine confirmed that the silk was the only material we did not already have to hand, thanks to our strange adventures. She and Vivienne were able to source it surprisingly affordably through a combination of her family’s trade connections with Rivain and Vivienne’s access to an incredibly talented Orlesian tailor who relished the prospect of their designs appearing on  _ the _ Herald of Andraste.

We had several conversations about hair and makeup. With my coloring, a bit of lipstick and eyeliner should be plenty. My hair will be braided to keep it off my face, gathered in a knot at the back of my head, held in place with the non-weapon hairstick. The rest of my hair will be in loose curls to my waist, which of course looks both fabulous and unquestionably foreign, as the current style in Orlais is for high and tight twists.

\-----

Well, here goes. I’m in the carriage riding up to the Winter Palace. The Iron Bull is with me as my bodyguard, and Varric, because he says he looks silly on a full-sized horse. Charter and Ritts are driving the carriage. The others are in uniform riding horses ahead of the carriage, and Sera said she’d make her own way there.

I feel like a badly-placed Disney Princess, or the stockiest Barbie you’ll ever see.

I also feel like I’m about to throw up.

LARP. It’s just a LARP. Breathe. I can do this.

\-----

We’re here. This is it.  _ Let’s do this thing _ .

\----- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you think that was a lot of fluff, you should see how long it was *before* trimmed it down!


	25. Thoughts from the Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different.

**_Halamshiral, a small notebook with rushed graphite markings_ **

Varric gave me this little notebook to record my thoughts during the ball, to avoid going too crazy, and maybe look extra enigmatic while I’m at it. He said it would drive them nuts wondering what I’m writing.

I’m writing with a paper-wrapped graphite stick. Yes, I seriously got Blackwall to carve a chunk of graphite into a stick shape for me, so I could make a damned _pencil_. It’s better than trying to remember how to help Dagna invent the ball-point pen or whatever.

Leliana said it was okay for me to take notes at the ball, as it would make them all feel _watched_ , which was distracting and useful, as long as I was using my cypher, and never let the notebook out of my sight. So, of course, I’ve been keeping it down my bodice, on a string tied to the top of one of my laces, because if years of Ren Faire have taught me anything, it’s that boobs exist primarily to provide storage space.

 

  * Why does everyone keep dropping things? Are their corsets too tight? So far I’ve found at least three randomly dropped, lost items just by _looking around_ , and that’s not even counting the “caprice” coins I keep finding. The woman who was fretting over the dropped ring likes me very much now. “However did you find it?” she asked, as if finding a shiny ring in the middle of an otherwise empty tile was particularly difficult for people who ever bother to watch where they step. “I’m _inquisitive_ ,” I deadpanned. I’m not sure she got my joke, but she laughed anyway.
  * Josephine explained the coins to me. Apparently they have special coins just for dropping in the fountains. Because the nobles here need more ways to prove that they’re uselessly rich, apparently.
  * Ritts has alerted us to collect the little Halla statues that are lying around and pass them off to Leliana for Charter. Apparently they’re keys our elf agents can use to open doors in the palace. Whose idea of security is this?



 

  * Duke Gaspard is funnier than I expected. He also seems younger than the history reports I’ve read indicate he should be. Maybe the mask has protected his face all these years?
  * At a glance he’s a sarcastic but otherwise forthcoming gentleman. But I’ve read the history, and it doesn’t recommend him to anyone who cares about anything other than Orlesian nobility. He believes elves should be “put in their place” with violence, and that Orlais is entitled to restore their glory by “reclaiming” Ferelden and parts of Nevarra.
  * Apparently the whole problem with Celene violently suppressing the elves of Halamshiral was prompted by him openly mocking her for being too soft on them. _This_ is the guy on whose arm I arrived? Great message to the elves. _Sigh._



 

  * They announced me as “Inquisitor Angela Jean”. But they pronounced it as though it were all Orlesian, so “Angela” came out “ _Ahn-zhel-uh_ ” and “Jean” came out “ _zhahn_ ”, like Jean-Luc Picard. That’s actually kind of convenient, as that _is_ an Orlesian name, and might make folks think a little better of me? Except it’s probably a commoner’s name, huh…? It was followed by a strange list of kennings, starting with the familiar “Herald of Andraste”, and spinning out into bizzare exaggerated shit. _“Vanquisher of the rebel mages”_. Buh?
  * Oh good, The Iron Bull was announced as my personal guard, as well as the head of the Chargers.
  * Varric was announced first as “Renowned Author”, and _then_ as a Deshyr. Isn’t the proper title for a Deshyr “Lord”, not “Master”?
  * Dammit, they announced Solas as my personal _manservant_?! What did they think the uniform meant?!
  * Wow, Cassandra has a LOT of names. And apparently that’s not all of them, because she interrupted him!
  * Ah, apparently Solas actually chose that for himself, even though Josephine offered otherwise. Wish he’d asked me first. I really don’t think we’re helping elves much tonight, are we? I’m sure Josephine would remind me to pick my battles. ~sigh~
  * Varric hates being called “Lord” whether it’s considered proper for a surface Deshyr or not (which apparently depends on who you ask), so okay, nevermind.
  * Oops, now the Orlesians are addressing me as “Inquisitor Zhahn” and everybody else seems to think they’d said “ _Ange L’Jean_ ” as some kind of title. ~Facepalm~



 

  * Augh! People keep _hitting on me_ , dammit! How am I supposed to turn them down unequivocally while maintaining the whole enigmatic player of the Grand Game thing? I can’t even adjust my personal shields to be more prickly, because that would actually show here. Maybe Solas can teach me how to adjust my shields invisibly…
  * Cullen is having even more problems than I am, apparently. There’s a whole pile of people - about two-thirds women - constantly surrounding him. I tried inviting him to dance to extract him from them, but he was worried it would just create offense as he’d turned them all down. I promised to periodically rescue him with some excuse or other, and encouraged him to pretend he needed my, Varric’s, or Dorian’s attention whenever he needed to escape them again. Why do I not think he’ll use it? I’ll let the others know to rescue him more often.
  * Okay, that last guy actually pissed me off, and apparently it showed, because when I raised my eyebrow, all the candles nearby flared. He stammered and backed off. That was sort of satisfying, actually.
  * The Comte du Blowhard (whatever) just grabbed my butt. I didn’t have a chance to turn around before the Iron Bull had a huge hand on his overdressed Orlesian shoulder. Bull didn’t even have to say anything. The guy found somewhere else to be. I hope all this crap isn’t causing a problem?
  * Josephine says it’s all normal, and we’re fine. Nobody can be offended if I don’t say anything too pointed, or inflict injury, and my bodyguard can even inflict a little injury if he sees fit, so long as it’s nothing a healing potion can’t fix. I’d be muttering about the damned patriarchy, but apparently it’s more like a free-for-all, if poor Cullen’s experiences are any example. The rule isn’t that women must be protected by men, so much as that the offended party can’t be the one to cause injury in their own defense. So it _would_ be acceptable for, say, Leliana to break a finger or challenge someone to a duel if someone grabs Cullen’s ass in her view. But unless she’s been announced as his attendant or guard, it would imply they’re lovers.



 

  * Sera stole Solas’ terrible hat for me, and now she won’t tell us where it’s hidden. I’m worried, because she won’t stop giggling whenever she looks at either of us, now.
  * Sera got yelled at for climbing the trellis in the garden, but apparently managed to convince them she was just trying to get something down off the balcony for Dorian, who supposedly lost something, and being a visiting elf servant, she didn’t know any other way up there. They conceded that there currently isn’t any other way up there, and let her go. So naturally she took the opportunity to sneak through the libraries and unlock an indoor passage for Ritts and Charter.
  * I know this not because I’m involved in whatever they’re doing (gathering blackmail material, mostly, I’m told) but because Sera wanted me to know that I could get away with making out in the library with somebody, if I wanted to now. I asked her who she thought I’d be doing such a thing with, and she smirked, saying it might help “Cully-wully” fend off all those admirers. I’m trying to decide if pretending to sneak off to snog Cullen in order to fend off his admirers is the worst idea I’ve ever heard, or secretly brilliant. It was Sera’s idea, so probably both.
  * Leliana said disappearing without the Iron Bull and with anyone else - except perhaps a female subordinate who could supposedly help me fix my hair or clothing - would definitely attract interest, but that the gossip might be as useful as it was potentially scandalous if planned correctly.
  * Apparently she proposed it to Cullen, who turned bright red and refused on the grounds that he did not wish to compromise my reputation. Why would the implication of my taking up with the most eligible bachelor at the ball (judging from all the unwanted attention he’s getting, anyway) compromise my reputation? She thought it was hilarious. I told her if there was anyone else in our own retinue she thought I _should_ disappear with conveniently, let me know.



 

  * I just met the Lady Morrigan, Empress Celene’s Occult Advisor, which apparently makes her First Enchanter Vivienne’s personal rival at court. She’s apparently an old acquaintance of Leliana and the Hero of Ferelden. Leliana says she probably has her own, unrelated agenda, but doubts she’d be involved in a plan to assassinate Celene and definitely can’t imagine her submitting to Corypheus. Vivienne is, of course, convinced her apostate rival is evil, or at least that it’s in her best interest to make everyone else think so. Having just met the woman, I rather like her, actually. They all find this strange. Lady Morrigan demanded to know why I kept smiling at her. Varric mused that it’s weird-shit like-to-like somehow. I didn’t have the heart to tell them all she reminds me of home.
  * Lady Morrigan knows there’s a conspiracy to assassinate Celene, and wants to work with us to stop it. She gave me a key she found on the body of a Venatori spy she had just killed. I don’t understand why she didn’t just give it to Leliana. _My_ job is to stand around looking important, dance a lot with noble strangers, and avoid answering questions. _Everyone_ will notice if I disappear to go investigate locked doors.
  * I passed it on to Leliana myself. She tells me the key was very useful indeed. She’ll update me later.



 

  * Celene asked me, rather publicly, to please demonstrate how I so famously sing to the Maker as Andraste once did. The first thing that came to mind was to modify a Disney song. I blame the dress.



I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even there  
I don’t know if you would listen to a mage’s prayer  
Yes, I know I’m just an outcast, I shouldn’t speak to you  
Still, I hear your name and wonder: were you once an outcast too?

God help the outcasts, hungry from birth  
Show them the mercy they don’t find on earth  
Please help the people, they look to you still  
God help the outcasts, or nobody will

Some ask for wealth, some ask for fame  
Some ask for glory to shine on their name  
Some ask for love they can possess  
Some ask for god and Andraste to bless them

I ask for nothing! I can get by.  
But I know so many less lucky than I  
Please help the people, the poor and downtrod  
I thought we all were children of God...

I don’t know if there’s a reason  
Why some are blessed, some not  
Why the few you seem to favor  
They fear us, flee us, try not to see us!

God help the outcasts, the lost and the feared  
Seeking an answer to why we are here.  
Winds of misfortune have blown us about  
You made the outcasts; Don’t cast us out!

The poor and unlucky, the weak and the odd,  
I thought we _all_ were children of God!

  * I kept my eyes closed and my face lifted for most of the song. Just about everyone there could be accused of asking for wealth, fame, and glory. Possibly because I managed to implicate absolutely everyone and yet no one in particular, I got tremendous applause.
  * Celene asked me to sing another. I sang the recruiting song I’ve been working on:



We knew our quest, we raised our hands  
Divine command our calling  
To mend the rifts that marred our lands  
To stop the sky from falling

We gathered all from far and near  
Of elves and dwarves and humans  
To build anew our Haven here  
But now it lies in ruins

 _So we will do what we must do_  
_As must I, so must you_  
_No one alone can meet the call_  
_For us to win our world it’s going to take us all_

The sky is scarred, the walls are down  
The waking world is fading  
I walked for days on holy ground  
Through snow and sorrow wading

_It matters who wins_   
_It matters who chooses_   
_If we let this monster take control_   
_Everybody loses_

We held the course through pain and cold  
To find a home worth building  
Our mountain peak, the sky she holds  
And holds us, Maker willing

 _So we will do what we must do_  
_As must I, so must you_  
_No one alone can meet the call_  
_For us to win our world_  
_From all that’s been unfurled_  
_To bring the light of dawn_  
_We all must carry on_  
_Together we can meet the call_  
_For us to win our world it’s going to take us all!_

  * They _really_ loved that one, probably because they could recognize familiar events within it. They shouted for a further encore. _Tsk._ I mean, I could sing for hours if I got adequate breaks and cool water, but didn’t we all have more important things to do, like negotiating the end of a civil war and stabilizing Southern Thedas?
  * I shook my head, warningly, took off my gloves, and sang a song about not giving in to an insidious, god-like enemy: _Sauron_. The verses were nearly perfect, but a chorus exhorting people to beware of cursed golden rings was a little too obscure. Thankfully I had two verses to come up with something else on the fly. The result was inspired by all the masked faces around me. Hopefully I didn’t just offend the entire court of Orlais...



Gather ‘round my friends to me, advice I have for you.  
It stems from my experience and I swear that it is true.  
We’re all bound for adventure. There’s paths where we must go.  
In light of my last journey there are some things you need to know.

All of us are tempted. All of us can fail.  
The trick is learning right from wrong and letting good prevail.  
We all can have the power now of darkness to command.  
But what would happen to your soul if you wield that upon your hand?

 _It's easy to be careless, it's easy to give in_  
_It's easy - hide it all behind a grin_  
_A mask so no-one else can see what is really true_  
_But at the ending of the day the one you've really harmed_  
_is always you_

You wear it closely to your heart, as if from a heavy chain.  
It rends the soul to many a part, and you’re never quite the same.  
Don’t ever heed his beck and call - his envy or desire -  
For if you love this world at all, return him to his forging fire!

Now you’ve listened to my thoughts, pray keep them in your mind.  
Someday it might be easier to be cruel or unkind.  
Remember some of what I’ve said, for when the moment’s through,  
Of danger done by darkness, the bearer then might well be you.

 _For it's easy to be careless, it's easy to give in_  
_It's easy - hide it all behind a grin_  
_A mask so no-one else can see what is really true_  
_But at the ending of the day the one **he’s** really harmed_  
_is **all of you**  _

  * Nobody cheered for that one. Nobody spoke at all for a moment, actually. I hope I didn’t just ruin all our efforts.
  * Once they started talking again, I was apparently all they could talk about for quite a while. As Josephine pointed out while we were preparing for the ball, the spectacle of a preachy Inquisitor was part of what people had come to see.
  * The flurry of attention specifically on me gave our elven agents more room to move, I’m told. I apparently also did a good job of implying I know a bunch of random stuff, because everybody is reading into the lyrics of these new-to-them songs.
  * Varric keeps telling them I wrote them _all,_ apparently - and even that I come up with them entirely on the fly; _divine inspiration_. Pardon me, I have a dwarf to strangle.



 

  * Varric is a surprisingly strong lead dancer for someone so short. I might swoon. He was kind of grumpy about my request at first. I promised to owe him a drink of the good stuff, and he conceded. Then we started snarking about his publisher’s budgeting shenanigans, and he told me a story about Hawke dealing with an Orlesian wyvern-hunting party. 
  * Dorian dances beautifully, of course, and was delighted for the chance to scandalize the court just by existing in my proximity. We’ve danced twice now, so that he could lead, and then I could lead. He said we should try it one more time switching off just to see if we can. I warned him people will think we’re courting each other. He said I was the _only_ sort of woman he’d _ever_ want to court. _Uh-huh._
  * Solas apparently _loves_ dancing, and offered to dance with me pretty much any other time than during a courtly ball where I have a reputation to uphold. I think he’s been drinking. He seems bizarrely comfortable here. He apparently adores intrigue? _Weird._
  * Just danced with Duke Gaspard’s sister, Duchess Florianne. She was very obviously trying to play the Game with me. I responded to all of her questions with questions, per Leliana’s suggestion. It was kind of like playing a drama club game, really. (Or _Vampire: The Masquerade_ , which, now that I think of it, is frighteningly apt.) Pretend to know more than you do, give enigmatic replies worthy of a Delphic Oracle, and smile at the appropriate intervals. I’m told it’s important that I led our dance, but really, I did it because I was slightly taller, definitely larger, and she didn’t force me not to. She follows well, which is frankly more difficult. At the end of our dance, she told me her brother’s mercenaries could be found in the gardens, where they were enacting their plot against Celene.



 

  * Oh joy. I just got called into the gardens to close a fade rift for a disturbing audience of Orlesian nobles. A small group of Venatori tried to ambush me along the way, but Bull and Varric handled them easily. I only had to heal Varric a little. Bull needed it more, but he said he’d rather keep the evidence for now. _Your kink is okay too, Bull._ On the up-side, my hairstick wand works pretty well.
  * There were only a handful of wisps and one lesser terror left at the rift by the time my little team arrived. Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra were already there dealing with it. I saw the remains of several more terrors and an arcane horror dissolving on the ground as I approached. I pointed my trusty hairstick and lit the despair demon on fire as I walked into the clearing, while Dorian and Solas banished the remaining wisps. Then I closed the breach, and put my wand back in my hair.
  * I saw Celene, Gaspard and Briala all watching from various balconies. Everyone applauded when it was closed, and one woman even complimented me on being able to do so without any harm to my clothing, and my hairdo so easily repaired. I spotted Duchess Florianne’s skirts disappearing around a hedge, though. We have reason to believe it was she who opened the rift. If so, that makes her Corypheus’ agent.
  * At Leliana’s instruction, I have now spoken privately with all _three_ players in the game for the stability of Orlais. It has come to our attention that Gaspard was planning a coup, but not per se the assassination of his cousin. Briala has been deliberately keeping both leaders unstable. We have evidence not only that she was indeed Celene’s lover, but that Celene still holds affection for her. And Celene has also been compromised, but as our goal is to keep her on the throne, I’ve assured her we’ve swept it under the rug. _Blech._
  * On Leliana’s cue, I publicly denounced Florianne, declaring that we have proof it was she who opened the rift, conspiring with Corypheus to allow Venatori agents to infiltrate the palace. She proceeded to rant handily about how Corypheus promised her _all the things_. I declared Lady Morrigan instrumental to our victory.
  * Then, when Empress Celene expressed mild surprise that it was Florianne and not her brother who conspired against her, I announced that he, too, had entirely separate plans to overthrow her, and it was her own beloved Briala who enabled us to uncover his treasonous Chevaliers and their hired mercenaries.
  * Both Chalons have been sentenced to death, the associated Venatori hunted down and killed by Inquisition agents, and the associated Chevaliers stripped of their rank and given the choice of exile, or indentured service to the Inquisition. Per our negotiations, Celene has taken the opportunity to announce a formal alliance with the Inquisition, and has granted Briala the title of Marquise.
  * The Salvation of Orlais has been credited to an elf, an apostate witch, and a “heretical movement rivalling the Chantry”. _Good times._



 

  * _OMG, Cullen asked me to dance!_ The great doof apparently finally relaxed enough, with all the politics taken care of, that he felt comfortable dancing. Granted, it was alone on a balcony with the Iron Bull guarding the door, but still! So adorable! He’s not half as bad a dancer as he fears, really.



 

**_Skyhold: A leather-bound journal_ **

I have officially survived the Winter Palace. Mostly because I did next to nothing. But somehow the court loves me and attributes every exciting thing anyone in an Inquisition uniform did to me, personally, which is ridiculous, since I’m the only officer who _wasn’t_ in one of those uniforms! Josephine assures me that this is not only acceptable, but to be encouraged, as it spreads our fame. Leliana tells me it allows our agents to continue working unnoticed because anything noticeable they do is redirected to my much more public face. Cullen and Cassandra acknowledge my discomfort and grumbling around being given credit for shit I didn’t do while good people are being denied credit for what they did do - especially our elves, dammit.

“This is part of why I hate the game,” Cullen admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I say "apparently" a lot when I'm gathering gossip. Apparently.
> 
> This is one of those chapters that will really benefit from someone *else's* perspective, which means I'll have to make a side story someday. That, of course, raises the question - Whose perspective would you like to see?
> 
> \-----  
> Credits:  
> "God Help the Outcasts" by Alan Menken on behalf of Disney, for The Hunchback of Notre Dame, modified lightly.  
> "The Golden Ring" by Heather Alexander, modified heavily.
> 
> The middle song I wrote myself, for this chapter.


	26. Significant Figures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ember meets some people who are very important to her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where CHEESE! fits in. I'll link to it in the appropriate scene, if you want to read where it goes in order. ;)
> 
> We've caught up to chapters still being edited, and soon will be caught up to chapters still being *written*. I think I can manage weekly for a little while longer, but will have to slow down after Halloween for sure.
> 
> Love, always, to my Beta readers, Uncle Dark and Cowoline!

There was a young man in the gardens today that I had never seen before. There aren’t many children in Skyhold. For all that we are a community, now, and a refuge, we are still ultimately a military operation. There have been a handful of births, of course, with so many here, and it’s been more than long enough for new lovers to pair off together within the organization as well, so more will undoubtedly join them. But older children are rare, as few established families have joined us.

I caught the boy’s eye as I walked through the garden, giving him a curious smile. He returned my attention with a calm, open smile. I approached him, careful not to stand too close, least his parents take my intentions amiss.

“Well, hello there. You’re new here, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Mother and I arrived a few days ago,” he agreed. They must have joined us at Halamshiral, then.

“Kieran,” Lady Morrigan’s voice reached us from the gazebo, “Are you bothering the Inquisitor?” She approached us with graceful steps, clearly more comfortable on the uneven garden ground in her surprisingly revealing clothing, than she had been in a corseted dress and slippers on marble floors in the palace where we’d met.

“No, Mother!” the young man chirped, “I was just saying hello.”

“He really wasn’t bothering me at all, Lady Morrigan. In fact, _I_ approached _him_ .” I tried to sound reassuring, but the fond look she directed to her son was still stern. Hoping to keep him out of trouble on my behalf, I continued. “He reminds me of my nephew. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that this fine young man is _your_ son. I can see the resemblance now that I look for it.”  

She seemed pleased by that. “Do you really? I always thought he resembled his father more. ‘Tis a blessing, as he is a very handsome man.”

“I believe you!” I smiled back, gesturing to the boy’s handsome young face. “May I ask, who his father is?”

“I’m surprised your spymistress has not told you already, Inquisitor. My love is Lord Kaigan Cousland, the Warden-Commander and Hero of Ferelden. We met just before the Battle of Ostagar during the fifth blight, of course. You do know Leliana and I were both his companions?”

“Ah, yes, I remember now. I’m sorry. I know far less history than I should,” I admitted.

“As Inquisitor you will need to know history more than most.”

“I spend most of my spare time learning Thedosian history for that very reason, yes. Alas!” I gestured humorously, holding my wrist to my forehead. “I’m better at learning from songs and storytellers than dusty books. At least at first,” I continued more seriously. “But Varric is very obliging, and I’m assured that for all his flourishes, his accounts of the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall are more or less accurate. And once I have the general story, books can give me the details well enough.”

“ _The dreams will tell you far more,_ ” the young man interjected, his eyes widened, expression knowing. I tasted another Identity present. The boy was carrying a spirit of some kind.

“Kieran,” Morrigan started to intervene with a gentle but firm warning tone, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder.

“How would I tell the true history from the false?” I asked him, testing the other presence. It wasn’t an ordinary spirit. The presence was too strong, more like a god.

“ _The same way you tell me from Myself, of course_ ,” came the calm reply through the boy’s mouth. The flavor was familiar, like Freyja, Oxun, Aphrodite, but less feminine. Closer to Apollo, maybe. But none of them, of course. The flavor was ultimately alien to me. Whoever it was, I’d never encountered them before. One thing was absolutely clear - that wasn’t just Kieran speaking.

“ _Kieran!_ ” Morrigan interrupted, sharply, pulling the boy back to himself. “It is time to return to your studies, little man,” she continued more gently.

“Yes, Mother,” the boy agreed easily, his eyes abruptly clear and young again. He departed immediately for their shared room at the end of the garden hall.

“Morrigan, may I speak with you privately, please?” I requested firmly, before she could change the subject.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she sighed, clearly unsettled.

I gestured for her to follow me, feigning casual conversation so that others would not suspect anything. “Let me show you the old library. I think you will appreciate it more than most, and I would love your opinion on the books of magical theory we have found there, especially if you can read some of the older languages.”

“It sounds most interesting, Inquisitor,” she agreed, falling into the careful masks of politics easily enough.

She followed me through stone hallways and down dimly-lit stairs. When she saw it was indeed a library of unknown age, cobwebs still encroaching on the shelves beyond my reach, she inhaled audibly, too slow to be a gasp. “This is quite a treasure,” she breathed, looking around with obvious pleasure.

I locked the door behind us, and joined her, gesturing for her to sit in one of the large armchairs. After a moment, she remembered why we were really there, though, and returned her attention to me, her expression guarded.

I wasted no time beating around the bush. “How long has your son been possessed?” I asked, my voice low so as not to be overheard.

“‘Tis not what you think, Inquisitor,” Morrigan replied, her tone cautious, “My son is no abomination.”

“I would not say that, no. It’s not a demon he’s carrying.”

Morrigan frowned. I held up my hands, conciliatory.

“It’s okay, Lady Morrigan, I’m not threatening you or him. I know better than to get between a mother bear and her cub.” I smiled wryly. “I merely wished to discuss it with you before anything further came up. And if necessary, to offer assistance.”

“We require no assistance, Inquisitor,” she replied firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and pressing her lips closed. Not that I could blame her for being closed-mouthed, but letting a possessed child roam through Skyhold at will when not all our Templars were equally understanding, or fully trained in the new methods we were developing, could be frankly disastrous.

“The one riding him is not a normal fade spirit.” I pushed, deciding in a split moment to trust Morrigan with some of my secrets if I wanted her to trust me with hers. “It tastes like some of the gods I’ve met. Maybe of beauty, or art? But the pantheon isn’t familiar. Do you know who it is?”

Morrigan turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Few could determined such a thing from a brief interaction. How are you so certain of what you see?”

“I have a great deal more experience with god possession than most, and have been trained for years to detect possession, benevolent or otherwise, in others.”

“You do not look Rivaini. Did you train with the Avvar?”

“No. It’s a long story. The short answer is that I’m not from here.”

“Indeed? Intriguing,” she murmured. I was surprised she didn’t ask for more.

I shrugged. “As for how I could tell what was riding him, well that’s less reliable, but in this case, the presence connected to your son is especially strong and thus easier for me to perceive and interpret. I imagine many people can sense it enough to find him unsettling without realizing why it bothers them.”

She sighed, dropping her arms. “That does happen, yes. As it helps keep him safe, I haven’t tried to alter it.”

“Unless someone he runs into can tell what they’re seeing, and wants to do something about it, yeah. The problem is, I _do_ have those kinds of people here. I gather from your lack of upset that you don’t want help separating the possessing entity from your son? I’m not sure how it works here, but back home I would advise against carrying an overpowering entity continuously, much less at such a young age. Our bodies aren’t really built for it. It may alter his metabolism, make him sick.”

Morrigan frowned at that, her gaze turning inward. “He has been healthier than most children so far,” she murmured, concerned.

My eyebrows rose at that. “Has he? Well, if it works, who am I to argue? _Do_ you know who it is?”

“I... do, yes,” she replied, wary again.

“But you’re not comfortable telling me?”

“Not yet, no. But for whatever it is worth to you, Inquisitor, my son is no danger to you or anyone else here, I swear it.”

“That’s good to know, but I’m also concerned with whether your son is _in_ danger.”

“I have cared for him thus far without assistance from any but his father,” she replied firmly.

I sighed, holding up both hands, ”Alright, I get it. Just another weird thing in Skyhold. _Must be Tuesday._ ”

She frowned, “You sound like Alistair.”

“Who’s Alistair? Oh! The other Warden, right. Wait, the King of Ferelden? _That_ Alistair? Leliana said he was one of your group as well, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, and a foolish one at that, though not the worst of the lot, I must admit. That would be Oghren. Though I suppose time has changed us all. Alistair seemed more... settled... when last we met.”

“He was pretty pissed off when _we_ met, since he and Queen Anora were there to kick the mages out of Redcliffe. But he’s been nicer since then in letters. Less snooty than the average noble, anyway. And snarky! I like his sense of humor.”

“You _enjoy_ his sense of humor? Do you also share his obsession with cheese?”

“King Alistair is obsessed with cheese?” I laughed, “We have more in common than I thought. Perhaps I should invite him here for cheese tasting!”

“I’m certain he would be delighted,” she replied dryly.

“Anyway,” I shook my head, “back to Kieran. I’m guessing you know rather more about how possession works around here than most. I would dearly love to discuss this with you in more detail - not about your son, necessarily, but about how it could be better handled in general. Mages here need a better education system than the Chantry’s Circles offered, and I suspect the Inquisition is going to have to spearhead that effort if it’s going to happen.”

“You wish me to aid in this process? I am an infamous apostate, a Witch of the Wilds. Even with my tenure at Empress Celene’s court, the resulting scandal could ruin you, Inquisitor. Besides, I have no love for the Circles, and no wish to see them rebuilt.”

“I don’t expect you to help directly if you don’t want to. I just want to have some conversations with you, so that I can develop a better understanding.”

“I am here to advise you, Inquisitor. If I can help, I will, so long as my son remains safe.”

“I mean your son no harm, and it doesn’t seem like his... _companion_ does either, thus far. But I did enjoy his company, and if it’s alright with you, and him, and his companion, I’d like to talk to them both further.”

“I would rather not leave my son alone with someone to poke and prod him, Inquisitor. Not even you.”

“Oh goodness, no!” I held up my hands. “I have no intention of touching him, nor doing anything other than talking with him and his companion, even. And of course you should be there, to take care of him should he need it.”

“Then I will consider it, Inquisitor, but I make you no promises where my son is concerned, save that I would do anything necessary to protect him.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed. “I look forward to meeting with you again, when we have the time.”

“I am at your disposal, Inquisitor,” she assured me.

I moved up the stairs to unlock the door, “Feel free to peruse this library, by the way. Just don’t disappear books entirely, please. Oh!” I stopped.

She turned back to look up at me, her expression curious.

“You’re a Witch of the Wilds, you said?”

“I am, yes. Or I was, rather.”

“Do you know shapeshifting? Solas mentioned something about that being rare, but known to your tradition.”

“My tradition? Yes, I can shapeshift. Why do you ask?”

“Solas thought I could be talented at it, given my dreaming, but I haven’t found anyone to teach me.” I suspect Solas knows how himself, but as he hasn’t shown it yet, it seems inappropriate to ask him.

“Hmm, it is possible. I will consider it.”

“Thank you, Lady Morrigan.”

\-----

I think I’d like to arrange for [a fondue dinner with the King and Queen of Ferelden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17304113) somehow. That’s bound to improve his opinion of us, right? What cheese lover doesn’t adore fondue? Would it be better to invite them to Skyhold to see how we’re doing, or let them know I’ll be heading towards Denerim and would love to meet them again in person while I’m over there for whatever contrived reason?

Maybe Leliana could come along, for once. She and King Alistair are still friends, right?

\-----

All these people who keep praising my courage obviously aren’t looking at my love life. I keep meaning to talk to Solas about my ridiculous crush, to try and figure out what the boundaries should be between us, and I keep chickening out. I’ll walk right into the rotunda, braced to talk, and he’ll say something enigmatic, or the corner of his lip will turn up when he sees me, or he’ll be deep in the middle of reading or painting, or he’ll be frowning at some thought, and my heart will flip over, and my stomach will drop, and I’ll just come up with yet another excuse for why it’s not a good time.

Because really, when is it ever a good time to set yourself up for rejection, right?

Whatever happened to the me that prefers clarity, even if it hurts to hear? Maybe this is the result of a life where the greatest threats around me are direct and lethal, rather than vague, emotional compromises among friends and family.

It’s stupid.

Sometimes I could swear he’s just waiting for me to ask. I catch his eye, and his expression has this… I don’t know, this tentative quality? Like whatever I say next will decide whether he pulls his shoulders and chin up, closing himself off, or smiles and relaxes, and tells me something more about himself, letting me in just another inch.

I wish I knew what it was. I get it that he’s an apostate and an elf in a world that condemns both. Maybe I’m not giving that enough credit. Isolation is a form of emotional torture; if he’s been truly solitary most of his life, I should expect… Well, I would expect his social skills to be terrible, actually, which they aren’t. So I’m guessing the isolation is a comparatively recent thing for him, but that could still be decades, if he’s as old as he seems.

Just how old _is_ he? I have no idea how long elves here can live if they’re not compromised somehow, but their legends say their ancestors were effectively immortal, which, if they’re at all similar to the Alfar, seems plausible to me. Regardless, between our likely age gap, this body, and my ignorance of this world, I’m sure I seem like a naive child to him.

Meh, maybe I’m better off just assuming he’s not interested, and the boundary should be set firmly at “just friends”. Of course, that still leaves a discussion of what boundaries between friends should look like for us, but that’s about a million times less mortifying than asking him if we’re _more_ than friends, so ok.

\-----

I never actually expected to meet Varric’s Bianca. The crossbow’s namesake, that is. Not that they’ll admit it even so.

“Half the girls in the Merchants’ Guild are named ‘Bianca’,” she deflected with a smirk. She was dressed like a lyrium miner in a typical beige hooded tunic under leather coveralls, a strawberry blonde braid peeking out from time to time. 

She’d come to tell Varric that the ancient Thaig where his brother’s expedition discovered red lyrium a decade ago was being used to mine the stuff now. Varric was obviously _very_ worried, but also resigned, as he’d long suspected something like that must have happened. Still, I’d only ever seen him so subdued when he was worrying over bringing Hawke within Cassandra’s reach.

Apparently Bianca was somehow putting them both at risk by coming in person, but neither of them would explain _why_. I gather they were involved before she married her husband, and he’s a rather possessive man. She seemed unconcerned, if only because the current situation is far more dire.

They were fascinating to watch. They obviously have a great deal of history that she, at least, finds incredibly amusing to reminisce over. Varric, though, seemed stressed by her presence. It became obvious over time that it wasn’t just that she was risking the Merchants’ Guild’s ire by coming, but that their relationship itself was a source of stress for him.

He didn’t want us to see it. The one story he’ll never tell just walked through the door, and the storyteller is speechless. I casually suggested that Hawke was likely to return in a couple of days, and Bianca might like to stay with us until then, and Varric rushed to assure Bianca that we didn’t need to waste her time by keeping her here for so long. She just laughed, while I raised an eyebrow at Varric.

“I take it they’ve never met?” I murmured to him, while Bianca seemed otherwise occupied.

Varric sighed. “Bianca is from another lifetime. I try not to mix my past and present more than I have to. Hawke has enough to deal with without me dragging her into guild politics.”

“And you have enough to deal with without trying to juggle who you are to each of them simultaneously,” I guessed. He scrunched his nose at me, and huffed, before walking off to intercept Bianca before Solas could catch her eyeing his research.

\-----

The entrance to Bartrand’s Folly was hidden behind a large waterfall in the Hinterlands. I brought the usual crew - Solas, the Iron Bull, and of course, Varric. Bianca was waiting for us there.

“Finally! I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she scolded us. Well, mostly she scolded Varric.

“Nobody said you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited,” he replied defensively.

“Well, I did wait, so let’s make this quick,” she said. “These idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers.”

I frowned, worried. Dagna had cheerfully explained exactly why lyrium was so dangerous to handle in morbid detail one day while I was sharing lunch with her. I didn’t finish the meal.

“Let’s get this over with before it starts talking to us,” Bianca muttered, turning to lead the way.

“Talking? I’ve only ever heard lyrium sing, not talk,” I objected.

“Bartrand said the idol talked to him, and it made both me and Meredith paranoid. Damned thing turned her into a statue,” Varric explained.

“Yeah, I’ve seen plenty of the red lyrium statue effect, thanks,” I cringed. “Talking, though, not so much of that.”

“It might just have been the idol,” Bianca suggested.

“Great. There’s a way to make red lyrium even worse,” Varric grumbled.

“You hear lyrium song, Inquisitor?” Bianca asked.

“Sometimes, yeah. It’s weird, but kind of pretty. Red lyrium sounds terrible, though.”

“Do you hear it now?”

“Not yet, but if we end up going down into the mines, I probably will. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

“We won’t be,” she assured me. “This is just the distribution staging area for transit to the surface. The source is under the Free Marches.”

“Why use such a distant entrance?” I asked.

“When you find a Deep Roads route that gets where you’re going, you don’t deviate. Trying to find another path could be deadly,” she explained.

I tilted my head, remembering Cullen’s theory about how Corypheus got his army to Haven. “What if you don’t have to worry about Darkspawn, though?”

Bianca shook her head. “There are still cave-ins, lava floods, and several kinds of underground predators, Inquisitor. Darkspawn may have more freedom of movement than we do, but they still take the path of least resistance.”

“Have I mentioned how much I _hate_ the Deep Roads, Pipes?” Varric groaned.

I chuckled. “If I ever visit the actual Deep Roads, I’ll be sure to leave you behind, Varric.”

\-----

“They won’t be able to use this entrance again,” Bianca declared with confidence. The huge metal doors she had just locked had apparently been engineered by her to hold off anything from Carta sappers to Darkspawn hordes.

“ _Bianca.”_ Varric had clearly spotted something I hadn’t. I glanced at him questioningly, while Bianca’s back was still turned. “Andraste’s ass, Bianca! _You’re_ the leak?”

_Well, shit._

She actually looked abashed. “When I got the location from you, I went to have a look for myself. I found the red lyrium, and I studied it. I just… wanted to figure it out.” 

“So, what did you figure out?” I asked, carefully.

“Red lyrium… It has the Blight! Varric, do you know what that means?”

“What?” he snapped, “That two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?”

“Lyrium is _alive_!” she exclaimed.

“That explains a lot, actually,” I mused. “King Alistair was able to assure us that Corypheus’ corrupted dragon isn’t a true archdemon. If it’s corrupted with blighted lyrium, no wonder it looked like one!”

The Iron Bull whistled low. I may need to talk to him about what he puts in his reports about this.

I glanced at Solas. I would have thought the mage would be more interested in this news, but if he was, it wasn’t getting past his usual poker face.

“I couldn’t get any further on my own,” Bianca continued, “so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. I found this guy, Larius. He seemed really interested in helping my research. So… I gave him a key.”

“ _Larius_ ? He was the Grey Warden we met in Corypheus’-” Varric stopped, his eyes growing wide. “Oh _shit_ . Larius definitely _wasn’t_ a mage when we met him, Inquisitor.”

Bianca was looking back and forth between me and Varric, pleadingly. “When you told me about the red lyrium at Haven, I came here, and well… then I went to you.”

“So we could deal with it,” I nodded. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable response to me.

But Varric was having none of it. “This isn’t one of your machines, Bianca!” he shouted, “You can’t just _replace a part_ and make everything right!” 

“No, but I can try, can’t I?! Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself, telling _stories_ of what I should have done?” she snapped back.

“Oy!” I called out, moving to stand over them, pointedly. Occasionally, being taller than half the population is useful. “Guys, I get it. This situation is every bit as fucked up as we knew it was when we came here. But I don’t give a shit about _blame_ . She’s taken responsibility for her mistake, Varric. She’s helping us fix it. That’s all _any_ of us can do!”

“Is she, though? Or did she just rope us into fixing it _for_ her?” he crossed his arms, angrily.

“Varric!” she objected.

He shook his head, and raised a hand, looking down. “We’ve done all we can here. You’d better get home before _someone_ misses you.”

“ _Varric…”_ Now she looked worried for him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, dejectedly, before walking off.

Bianca frowned, watching him walk out. Then she turned to me, scowling. “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.”

Ahh. So she really _does_ care about him. I raised my eyebrows, half-smiling. “You’d have to get in line behind Hawke.” _That_ got me an interesting look. I laughed, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “I’m a healer, Bianca. If Varric dies on my watch, it’ll be because I’m already dead.”

She turned back to watch him, obviously pained.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “His question is fair, Bianca. _Are_ you actually going to stick around and help us solve the red lyrium problem?”

She started to reply, but I interrupted, squeezing her shoulder slightly. “No, let me rephrase that. You _are_ going to help us solve this. The question is, do I have to conscript you?”

“ _Conscript me?_!” Her eyes grew wide and she pulled away to give me a horrified look. Varric heard her voice raised and turned back to look. The Iron Bull was standing behind her trying not to laugh. Solas just raised an eyebrow at me.

“Yes, conscript you. We need the best, Bianca. Even Dagna hadn’t figured out that lyrium is alive. You know more about red lyrium now than anyone else we can even begin to trust. If conscripting you is what it takes, then you can bet your brilliant dwarven ass I’ll do it.”

She scowled at me, but I just smiled and started walking towards Varric and the exit. “I won’t _have_ to do that, though, will I?”

She crossed her arms, sullenly as she caught up with me. “The Merchants’ Guild is _literally_ cutthroat, Inquisitor. They will only tolerate so much.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to make it work. You can present it as an amazing offer of alliance or something. We already have dealings with them for our lyrium supply. If they’re smart, they don’t want their sources corrupted any more than we do, right? So why _shouldn’t_ they loan us their best to protect both our interests?”

She was clearly considering it, as we caught up with Varric. He blinked several times. “Shit, Pipes, are you serious?”

“You just want me working with your Arcanist, don’t you?” she smirked at me.

“Damned straight,” I agreed, grinning.

“Fine!” she threw up her arms, “I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t just drop everything, Inquisitor. The food supply is already critically low, and my machines may be the only thing stopping Orlais and Ferelden from starving in six months. I can’t move my workshop to Skyhold, but you and Dagna are welcome anytime, and I’ll visit from time to time to share my research on lyrium with you. Good enough?”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to make arrangements that work for everyone,” I agreed, solemnly.

Varric pulled his hair with a shaking hand, and then just turned and silently walked away.

\-----

Varric pulled me aside for a drink when we returned to Skyhold. “You’re seriously pairing Bianca with _Dagna,_ Pipes? Are you trying to get everyone killed?” Varric laughed nervously.

“What, you don’t think two geniuses are better than one?” I grinned at him.

“You know we’re going to have to arrange for me to be conveniently absent whenever she visits officially, right?”

I shrugged, accepting the mug of mead he handed me before sitting down to his table by the fire. “She didn’t seem overly concerned about that, but if that’s what we need to do to keep everyone safe, then I’m sure we can make it work. Hawke can always use your help in the field, I’m sure. Bianca obviously doesn’t actually want to visit very often anyway.”

“You sure know how to complicate things, Pipes” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re really that afraid of Hawke and Bianca meeting?” I asked.

He shook his head, “I couldn’t begin to tell you why, but… yeah.”

I shrugged, thinking about it for a moment. “I guess I can see it: two powerful, dangerous women who are both viciously protective of you.”

“Three, counting you,” he smiled wryly.

“Er, okay, sure,” I furrowed my eyebrows. “I don’t think we have the same kind of relationship you have with them.”

“No, all of my terrifying friendships are definitely unique, Pipes,” he agreed ruefully.

\-----

I looked out across the waters, and sighed. It had been ages since I’d seen the Pacific Ocean, but I had no trouble remembering it for the fade. I ran my hands through the pale sand, letting it fall through my fingers, and then shook my head at myself, and looked up.

“Rabbit, can you please go see if Solas is up for joining me here?” He nodded briefly, and scampered into the beach grasses above the high-tide line, quickly blending in with their dry golden-tan stems.

I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of the waves crashing and receding, and then stood up, brushing the sand off my jeans, and started to sing an offering song to the waters, like I would have back home.

 _“Oooh, let the wind fill your sails_  
_Oooh, good weather to you prevail_  
_Thus call all the voices of the sea…”_

I opened my eyes, letting the last note drift away on the wind, to find Solas standing beside me.

“How long have you been there?” I asked quietly.

“Two and a half verses, I believe.” He smiled, gazing at the ocean. “The song is lovely. Did you compose it?”

“No, it’s by one of my favorite musicians from home.” I stared at my hands awkwardly.

“My compliments to them, then.” He turned to face me. “Rabbit said you wished to see me?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about something.” My smile was apologetic. He raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. “Um, well, you know my hugging project.”

“I do. Dorian, in particular, seems enthusiastic.”

“Yeah, it’s going well. I’ve even got Cassandra hugging me when nobody else is looking.”

“Now that is an accomplishment,” he smirked.

“Right?” I laughed. “I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with, um, with the… boundaries… between us? Because, like, I hug everybody, but I’m pretty sure you hug only me, and while I very much appreciate you helping take care of me, I don’t really know what you’d actually prefer for yourself. Does that make sense?” I winced, clasping my hands together to avoid flapping them anxiously.

He tilted his head, eyebrows lifted. “I would not have indulged your request if I minded it.”

Out came the shaking hands. “No! Sure, I mean, I get that. But… I...  Argh, this is stupid, hold on.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying _not_ to picture his undoubtedly disappointed expression. When I opened them again, all I saw was his usual impassive patience. He was simply waiting for me to speak.

Of course.

“I just meant that I know what _I’m_ okay with, but I have no idea what _you_ actually expect from friends. You’re so restrained all the time. I’m pretty sure the Winter Palace was the first time I’ve seen you even tipsy.”

He pursed his lips, glancing away, before chuckling and looking back at me.

My heart skipped a beat.

So of course, I went back to babbling, staring down at the sand. “I mean, I _think_ you’d tell me if you… um, found me... objectionable? But I don’t actually know what you want, you know?”

His feet stepped softly into my view, and warm hands came to rest on my shoulders. I looked up, embarrassed, and forced myself to take a deep breath. He had that hesitant look again, that he sometimes gets, lips pressed together, eyebrows lifted and pulled in, shoulders high, like he was holding a breath while deciding what to say.

“Ember, you are… I have not had a friend like you in a very long time. I do not find you in the least bit ‘objectionable’. On the contrary...” His gaze turned inward for a moment. He shook his head and returned to holding my gaze. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a friend quite like you at all. Whatever reason I’ve given you to worry, I apologize. If I seem averse to your _hugs,”_ he emphasized the word as though it was especially foreign to him, smirking, “it is simply because, as you have observed, few others offer any such comforts to a man like me.”

I sighed, relieved. “Not much love for elven apostates around here, eh?” I smirked.

“No.” He laughed, releasing my shoulders, only to hold his arms out, inviting a hug.

I grinned, and wrapped my arms around his chest, putting my cheek against his shoulder. His hands pressed against my back, and he nuzzled his face in my hair.

“Why does your hair smell different in the fade?” he wondered aloud. “It’s very… fruity.” He inhaled deliberately. “The clove is still there.”

I laughed.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits:  
> "Voices of the Sea" by Heather Alexander
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated! Especially if you have any "roaming antics" for our prospective lovebirds. I am, it turns out, a bit too practical to be much for a romance writer...
> 
> -E-


	27. Wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clusterfuck  
> noun
> 
> 1: A complicated, multivalent situation wherein many things are going wrong at once.
> 
> 2: Adamant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratitude as always to my beta readers, UncleDark and Cowoline.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, thank you!
> 
> -E-

The Western Approach makes Cole nervous for some reason he hasn’t been able to articulate yet. I’m worried for him, but so far it doesn’t seem to make him any more vulnerable in combat, so I guess we’re okay. I have to admit, it feels downright weird traveling this much without Solas, and I’d feel better if he was with us to help translate for Cole, but he’s in the middle of a research project again. Either that, or it was a convenient excuse to put off going to the desert, which I have to admit, I’d do myself if I could!

Strangely, despite the lack of open war and fleeing refugees, this area, too, has stray chests filled with useful objects tucked into random places all over the desert. Maybe there’s just a custom of leaving useful stuff lying around for the next guy (pointy green hat optional) here in Thedas that I’m not used to because I come from a hyper-commercialized world?

The land itself has its beauty, but there's a lot of ugliness here to mar it; namely Darkspawn, Venatori, and moderately organized bandits. 

None of which were why we came.

Warden Stroud sent Hawke word of where and when to meet him in the Approach to catch up with Warden-Commander Clarel’s people, in the hopes of getting more answers. There’s an ancient Tevinter ritual tower set up to stick out over the chasm. I have no idea why, or what the architecture is supposed to do other than look cool. Perhaps it’s meant to make it easier to pitch unwieldy summons off the cliff? It doesn’t really seem like a ruined tower so much as a theatre set with nowhere for the audience to sit. There’s the one full wall, and then the lower sides, and a narrow bridge to the plateau. Ancient Tevinter architecture is just plain weird sometimes. But hey, at least it obeys physics, which is more than can be said for ancient Elvhen architecture, if the fade is to be believed, anyway.

Clarel wasn’t there, but we caught up with a small group of warden mages and fighters following a Tevinter mage named Erimond. He was having the Warden mages sacrifice their non-mage brethren for use in blood magic to summon demons. They bind the demons, Erimond binds them. By the time we arrived, he had all but the last of them already bound, and the last was mid-process. There was nothing we could do to save any of them, but he set them to fight us and escaped in the resulting chaos.

Stroud suspects he knows where the rest of the Warden forces are holed up. He and Hawke are heading there now. The rest of us are headed to a keep the Inquisition is holding, further along the chasm, to rest for the night and figure out what to do next.

I’m told it was formerly one of the Wardens’ smaller keeps in the area, with Adamant Fortress being their main hold during the 2nd blight. Cassandra and Captain Rylen led several units of our forces in taking Gryphon Wing Keep not long before my team arrived in the Approach, and Rylen has been left in charge.

When we reconvened there to update Rylen on the situation, he gave me a list of known rift locations in the area to please close before leaving. He suggested, with all due respect, that Cullen could be sent updates well ahead of my return to Skyhold, and would not waste any time developing suitable plans while I am in transit, so if I could spare a day or two at most to clean up the rifts in the area, please, the troops under his command could make sure Corypheus gains no further ground between the keep under Rylen’s command and wherever the Wardens have gathered - most likely at Adamant.

Iron Bull agreed that Cullen didn’t actually need me personally to get the ball rolling, and for all that I’m the Inquisitor and the Herald, the one job _only_ I can do is close the rifts, so when that comes up, it has to be prioritized accordingly.

\-----

I was so exhausted I was shivering by the time we ended the meeting. After the Iron Bull talked to him for a few minutes quietly, Rylen cleared out a small private room for me. I told him it wasn’t necessary, that I’d bunk with the other women if there wasn’t a suitable room for my whole party, but he insisted.

For the first time in a while, I settled down to risk praying aloud, forcing myself to breathe slowly and carefully with the words as I sang. I still haven’t heard so much as a peep out of any of my gods, much less the unfamiliar local gods. If there is any coherent reason they bothered to drag a total stranger who knows nothing of this world and stick painful magic to my hand, I haven’t caught the slightest whiff of it.

I thought for a while I might be making a difference, that perhaps they just needed a fresh perspective or something.

The deeper we get into it, the more I wonder if there’s a point to any of it.

But there _must_ be. It’s beyond any power I’ve ever had to place me here on my own. Why would they do such a thing if there was no plan, even a flawed one?

But then, why would they risk my being here with no knowledge of the plan? Was I supposed to know?

_Did something go wrong?_

\-----

Solas found me throwing a dream Bembe for a bunch of wisps who took it upon themselves to look like Umbandistas in white with colorful necklaces for me. It was comforting, I admit, just to sit and drum and sing for them, even if it wasn’t real. I’m actually kind of surprised I didn’t attract anything more personified, trying to impersonate one of the Powers, but I was mostly pretty careful not to actually put intent behind the invocation songs.

Solas’ arrival stuck out like a sore thumb, simply because he was the only one not dressed head-to-toe in white. Well, not at first, anyway. After looking around at the wisps, and then seeing my own choice of clothing, he promptly changed his own to something similar.

“I did not know you play drums as well as sing, _da’len_.” He smiled.

“Sometimes it’s nice to hit something that makes a pleasant sound for a change,” I smirked. “Hold on a minute, let me close this.” I switched beats and sang the closing song with only as much force as I’d sung the others, thanking the wisps and sending them away. Then I set the drum aside, and invited Solas to sit with me.

“You didn’t have to stop on my account,” he apologized. “I enjoy your music.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’d rather talk with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Is something amiss?” he asked as he sat down, leaning towards me with his elbows on his knees.

“Yes. No. Ugh, I don’t know. I just feel so useless, Solas! I tried praying earlier and of course nobody ever answers here. I didn’t really expect it to work, but I don’t know.” I sighed, shaking my head. “We caught up with some of the missing Wardens today, finally. It turns out, they’re being led by a fucking... megalo… maniacal…” I threw my hands up in exasperation, rolling my eyes. “I can't believe I just used that in a sentence! Ugh. Anyway, some Magister named Erimond.”

Solas nodded, and shrugged. “That is hardly surprising.”

I smirked. “I know, right? So, of course, he set a bunch of Wardens on us so he could save his own skin, but first he spent, like, half an hour gloating about all the details of his plans, soliloquy-ing, like some movie-” I paused, trying to think of a useful parallel, and waved one hand, “Um, like an opera villain. I’m pretty sure he didn’t expect his brainwashed Wardens to actually win the fight, demons or no, which means he’s so sure his plan is too far along to stop that he seriously doesn’t think we have any chance of interfering.”

I stood up to pace, wringing my hands. “So, now we have to assume he’s ready to take on Orlais and Ferelden with an army of demons and compelled mages any day now. Stroud thinks he knows where they're hiding, and Hawke is backing him up. The rest of us are heading back to you in a day or two, to bring the Council up to speed. I know we need to strike hard and fast, but we can’t take on an army with just strike teams, that’s… that’s just crazy, right? I mean, I guess we do actually have an army now, but how long it will take our Commander to muster them into a single, coordinated force to attack Erimond’s Wardens? And even with everything we’ve done so far, if we can’t stop Erimond in time, that fucked up future… badness… it’ll all happen anyway, and I... I can't even do... Why am I even here, Solas? _What am I supposed to do?!_ " Tears were streaming down my face and my whole body was shaking.

Solas was standing in front of me, reaching out slowly to take my hands. “Shhhh, _da’len_ , Ember, we will never allow that future to arise, I promise.”

I tried to pull my hands out of his grasp, to flail, but he held them firm. I grimaced, holding my breath to regain control of my voice for a moment. “But... how are we going to _stop_ it? We haven’t even gathered the army yet, and the Wardens have been raising their demons for _months, right?_ And… and Erimond is controlling their _minds_ , Solas! He’s convinced them they’re all dying anyway, and the only way to stop the Blight is to use a spell that lets him control their minds! They’re like puppets!”

His voice was low and steady. “The army can gather along the way, Ember. Your Commander is well suited to his role. You have done what you can yourself. What you must do now is trust the rest of us to do what _we_ must do. Is that not what you have been saying all this time? It will take us all? You have convinced them, _Herald_. They will come.”

I nodded, letting his voice wash over me, barely hearing the words as he pulled me into his arms to help me calm down.

\-----

We took care of several rifts that were randomly scattered across the desert, and then returned to our first camp in the area to find an obscured path through old mines to a rather strange old Tevinter building.

Getting into the building wasn’t difficult. There was evidence of Venatori activity, but the building itself wasn’t really guarded anymore. Or rather, it was, but not against our time.

I’d thought from what Dorian said that the time magic we encountered in Redcliffe was new. From what we found in the broken future, it only worked going back to the formation of the Breach. And yet, here in what the Venatori’s notes called the ‘Still Ruins’, we found both time magic and rift magic. Specifically, we found Tevinter mages from a few hundred years ago (Dorian estimated from the design of their clothing), locked in combat with various demons which were pouring out of the same kind of fade rifts I’ve been closing all over Southern Thedas for the last many months. Granted, this doesn’t constitute time _travel_ , and I don’t believe anyone ever said rifts in the veil were themselves entirely new magic, but we were still quite surprised.

Looking around the ruins, it was not immediately obvious how we could get time started again in order to close the rift. The situation, however alarming to look at, seemed stable. Our main concern is that the Venatori may return and figure out how to make a mess of things all over again. If there are any useful artifacts here, we’d obviously rather prevent them from acquiring them, especially if they could be used for time magic or rift control!

Unfortunately, we really don’t have time to waste on this. We’ll come back first thing tomorrow while it should still be quite cool inside the stone building, and if we can’t sort out how to get time started and the rift closed by mid-day, we need to make our arrangements to head back to Skyhold.

\-----

We caught up to Cassandra on our way back to camp. "Cullen's got those trebuchets for the assault on Adamant. Think he'd mind if I borrow one? Just for an hour or two,” the Iron Bull asked her.

Cassandra put down her bowl of stew to regard the Qunari curiously. "Why do you need a trebuchet?"

His eyes lit up. "Krem sews a bit; he made these stuffed nugs with wings. I wanna see how far they can fly..."

Cassandra frowned. "I... don't think that's an appropriate use of the Inquisition's resources."

"See? This is why you're not in charge of morale."

"I don't know," I interjected, "I think Cullen would probably get a kick out of it. Wait, no! I have a better idea, Bull!"

"Better than flying nugs from trebuchets?"

Cassandra snorted.

"Better FOR flying nugs from trebuchets! Let's have a contest for whoever can build the best stuffed nug launcher out of whatever materials we can spare. We can have people sign up in small teams - three or four people each, maybe. Either one mage per team or no magic allowed. There's more than one kind of launching device. Trebuchet, ballista, cannon, who knows what people will come up with?"

"That's badass! But how many nugs will Krem have to sew for it?"

"Maybe one per team? We can give them burlap sacks to practice with, and make a rule that the launcher has to be nug-neutral until time to launch. Come up with a scoring system for how intact the nug was at the end, to encourage re-use?"

"Wouldn't we score based on distance?"

"And height, yeah. Different strengths and weaknesses, right? We can have a silly awards ceremony where we give out prizes for highest, farthest, most intact nug, and most disastrous failure, or something."

Cassandra huffed.

\-----

I don’t actually like that I’m getting good at killing, but I have to admit, I am. This morning’s return to the Still Ruins went better than I could have hoped. Re-starting time turned out to be a matter of collecting a handful of crystal keys to open the shrine door, and them removing the very shiny, very _prickly_ mage staff from the podium it was embedded in.

The harder part was where the Tevinter mages and assistants who suddenly roared back to life after several hundred years of stasis along with all the demons attacking them didn’t parse us as incoming help, so we had to fight and ultimately kill all of them _and_ all the demons, even though they had nothing to do with the current conflict as far as we knew.

It didn’t help that they didn’t speak Trade at all, and barely understood Dorian’s dialect of Tevene. I’m guessing the Iron Bull’s presence complicated things. I gather Tevinter and the Qun have been at war for at least that long.

Gods save me, I’m just so tired of all the death. I can’t imagine how veterans like the Iron Bull keep going through it all.

\-----

This whole preparing-for-war thing is alien to me. All the fights we’ve been in so far, we’ve prepared at most hours in advance, scouting an area in order to come up with a reasonable strategy for avoiding danger and reducing collateral damage while still accomplishing our task. Most fights are just jump in and hope our usual tactics work well enough in whatever context we find ourselves in. My tactics are mostly run away from people with sharp things, keep our shields up, and heal anyone who isn’t a bad guy. With the exception of the Freemen of the Dales, most of the ‘bad guys’ I’ve had to fight have been pretty distinct from the nearest ‘good guys’, so that’s been okay. I take the occasional scrape, and get in the occasional icy blast, but mostly my shields and ambient luck have kept me out of the worst of it.

That is, unless a bunch of Venatori or Red Templars notice that I’m the one with the anchor on my left hand, at which point I get to practice my elemental attacks and the fade step technique Solas has been teaching me. Dorian commented a while ago that it’s a bit like watching me replace myself with a simulacrum made of fire. I’ve been working on a specific combination ever since that leaves a sort of firebird behind when I fade step. I’m told it looks very impressive and intimidating already, but I have some work to do to program it to attack my enemies.

\-----

The command staff have gathered at Gryphon Wing Keep to stage for the siege on Adamant. Cullen, Leliana, Cassandra, Solas, and the Iron Bull have all been discussing - arguing, really - over how to involve me in the assault. I’m not actually very well suited to front line fighting even after months of skirmishes, but I’m a decent ice and fire mage, and I’m excellent support for fighters when it comes to shielding, healing, etc. More importantly, I’m one of the best we have for dispatching demons, the only one who can close rifts, and possibly most importantly, with regards to morale, I’m the Inquisitor. I definitely need to be there, one way or another, to encourage the troops and handle any rift-specific emergencies, but how are we going to keep me out of the main line of fire?

Cassandra and Cullen want to keep me out of combat entirely, an option which seems to tempt Solas as well. Leliana suspects that Erimond won’t show his face unless I’m there to confront him directly, and that I may be the only one who can get through to Warden-Commander Clarel, especially if Stroud and Blackwall can’t, though I have no idea how I’m supposed to do that.

The Iron Bull insists that he can keep me safe enough if Solas keeps our barriers up, and that they shouldn’t underestimate me. Personally, I’m fine with just shielding up and playing support to my usual strike team until something specific that requires me comes up. I’ll even hang out in the triage tent like Solas suggested, to help the healers there if that’s where I’m most useful.

In the end, somehow, Leliana won the argument on the grounds that if we don’t get me up in there early on, we may not be able to get me where I need to be if something arises. Or perhaps most accurately, Leliana convinced me, and I asserted my usual tie-breaking vote.

\-----

There was no way we could hide an army marching through the Western Approach towards Adamant. Even travelling mostly at night to avoid exhausting the troops, a military body that large in spaces that open is just really damned obvious.

There were a few skirmishes here and there with darkspawn, or territorial varghests, but no fully sentient beings are stupid enough to attack a whole army on their own, not even dragons.

Ahh well, it wasn’t as if Erimond didn’t know we were coming.

\-----

“Ugh, I hate deserts,” Varric complained as we rode alongside the column of soldiers. “They’re just so _dead_.”

I rolled my eyes at the dwarf’s inevitable discontent. “Deserts are full of life, Varric, you just have to know where to look.”

“Not this one!” he insisted grumpily, “Even around the springs, there’s what, a handful of stubborn spindleweed?”

Solas shook his head. "It was not always like this. Memories of how it once was linger in the fade, if you have the patience to dig past the horrors of the Second Blight. In the time of Elvhenan, there was a vast forest here, which later gave way to grasslands as the dragons and varghests were hunted for sport. It did not become a wasteland until the darkspawn overtook it. For every year the blight afflicts the land, it takes decades to recover.”

Varric winced. “Ferelden is damned lucky the fifth blight ended so quickly. King Alistair and Warden-Commander Kaigan are called heroes for a reason."

My eyes grew wide as I contemplated their words. The blight sounded like nuclear fallout spread by a zombie apocalypse.

“Good gods,” I whispered, “if that’s what the Grey Wardens were created to fight, to prevent, no wonder they panicked.”

Solas scoffed. “The Wardens are ineffective and careless with their unchecked power.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I suppose you have a better solution?”

He pressed his lips together. “Perhaps. I could hardly find a worse solution than the one Clarel has chosen.”

\-----

In the hopes that it could prevent the need for open battle, I spent the nights before we arrived at Adamant in the fade with Solas, sending Rabbit and Anselm to find wisps willing to carry messages through to Clarel. Though many wisps seemed amenable initially, none returned successful. None returned at all, in fact, and the closer I got to Adamant, the fewer and fewer willing wisps I could find.

Something was frightening the lesser spirits away. They believed something had _eaten_ the messengers I tried sending ahead through the fade to Clarel; something they could only describe as monstrous.

\-----

I will never complain about regular field work skirmishes again. Okay, that’s probably not true, but I’m so exhausted I’m nauseous. Everything hurts. The only reason I’m even trying to write this right now is that I’m too wired to sleep. Maybe that trip through the fade messed with my sleep, I don’t know. To be honest, I’m kind of scared to sleep right now, after everything I’ve seen, knowing what’s waiting in the local fade to prey on all those new, deliciously horrible memories I’ve acquired.

I should back up. After a week of setting up and waiting, hoping the Wardens might be willing to at least parlay with us once we proved we couldn’t be ignored, we finally brought out the siege engines and broke down the doors. 

Sure enough, the Wardens had already raised a fair few demons, killing their own in the process, and giving Erimond that many more mage thralls.

The sound was _incredible_. I’ve gotten so used to living in a world without amplified sound. I haven’t needed earplugs like I so often did at home, but I found myself desperately wishing for them again. The cacophony only got worse once we got inside, with live steel against armor clanging everywhere, magical explosions, demons roaring… and the people! Shouting orders and defiance, calling out desperate incantations, wailing in pain.

After a time, Cole appeared out of nowhere with balls of wax for my ears, only to disappear again the moment I accepted them. How he could hear my anxiety over the din of true suffering around us, I have no idea. Maybe the anchor amplified my signal? I feel guilty for distracting him for even a moment, even as I’m grateful he thought of me and had a solution. I hadn’t realized how sluggish and stiff my body had gotten under the sheer onslaught of sound until I put them in! If he hadn’t given me those ear plugs, I’m not sure I’d have gotten through the day with my reflexes so impaired by the overwhelm.

At first I just stayed behind Cassandra and the Iron Bull, with Solas at my side as I tried to match him barrier-for-barrier defending our warriors. We plowed our way through the crowds doing our best to head straight to Clarel and stop Erimond, letting the bulk of our forces handle the demons and enthralled mages.

We’d given the soldiers instructions to shout warnings to any Wardens who weren’t controlling a demon to stand down and surrender if they didn’t want to be harmed. Every unit had an attached Sargeant whose job, in addition to commanding their troops, was to act as a crier carrying information across the field, and more or less continually chant that we were there to stop Erimond and the demons, not to fight the Wardens. I’m told that did save a few lives here and there - Inquisition units running up against fighter-only Warden units coming to an agreement on the fly, and such. In the end, about a third of the remaining Wardens surrendered, and another half again who defected to fight against the demons once they heard our refrain.

Gods, this is all so clinical. I don’t even know how to convey how totally overwhelming it was. If the Iron Bull wasn’t so easy to spot in the crowd, and Solas so good at keeping track of me, I’m sure I’d have been lost several times. I’m equally sure I’d be _dead_ several times over if I didn’t have such an awesome team and the best armor we could muster. I know I caught several spells in the back that just dissipated against my shields. I don’t particularly enjoy being everyone’s escort quest. I wish I were better at holding my own, but Solas says the only thing holding me back from being an excellent combat mage is my compassion, which he is loathe to discourage, and the others say I’m doing pretty well for how much combat experience I have.

After a while I just sort of settled into a trance where I let myself be guided by a combination of instinct, touches from Solas and the Iron Bull, and a strange sense of _presence_ somewhere in the upper reaches of the keep.

At one point, Bull had to pull me back from plowing on ahead of the group, I was so sure it was where we needed to be. I watched, unable to hear what Solas was saying to him, and then he just nodded and started off in the same direction I’d been trying to go, indicating that he would keep up with us if we led the way.

We found ourselves on the top level of the lower part of the keep, where enthralled mages had summoned two pride demons and several smaller monsters. Without thinking about what I was doing, I reached up towards the air between the two huge demons and warped the veil into a sucking vortex rift, pulling all the demons in the area towards it. Most of the smaller demons were pulled back into the fade entirely, leaving behind a despair, both prides, and a couple of flaming rage demons who had been out of reach. I spent the rest of that battle healing our troops while Solas kept the barriers up so Cassandra and the Iron Bull could each confront a pride demon. The regular soldiers tackled the smaller demons and Warden mages.

We caught up with Hawke, Varric, and Stroud just as they were heading into the tower where I felt irrationally certain Clarel was set up. Cassandra had separated from us to help with a problem on the battlements. Last I’d seen, Blackwall was carrying an injured Warden fighter to the triage tents in the opposite direction, so clearly he wasn’t available to convince Clarel of Erimond’s duplicity. Hopefully Stroud could talk some sense into his comrades.

Clarel turned out to be on the battlements _next_ to the tower I had marked, but we had to go down and through another courtyard beyond the main bailey to get to her. We arrived in the courtyard where the Wardens still loyal to Clarel stood awaiting orders. We could see the green glow of Corypheus’ control over the mages in their eyes, which seemed so obvious, I couldn’t imagine how Clarel could overlook it. Erimond had no doubt assured them all that the glow merely indicated their control over the demons they’d summoned, but it was obvious to any who observed that they were like marionettes, all dangling from the same string together.

Surely the warriors had noticed?

“Stop them! We must complete the ritual!” Erimond was insisting as I removed my earplugs.

“Wardens!” I announced urgently, not stopping to think beyond willing the air to carry my voice farther than I could shout over the crackling of magic surrounding a dozen mages, “We have no quarrel with you! All who stand down are spared! I am only here to stop Erimond, servant of Corypheus, and his demons!” 

“Corypheus? But he’s dead!” Clarel shouted back.

“Corypheus rises again, like an archdemon! I killed him myself, and he returned!” Hawke shouted back. “I have seen what he does to Wardens. You are being manipulated!”

“I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!” Stroud added in a commanding voice. “You’re being used! Some of you know it, don’t you?”

The Warden warriors stirred at that, looking doubtfully between us and Clarel, muttering to each other.

Erimond was urging Clarel to complete her own role in the ritual to pull a major demon through the largest rift, interrupting every attempt she made to pause for thought.

“What’s the hurry, Erimond?” I shouted, “Worried Clarel will see through your obvious lies if you give her time to _think_?”

Clarel turned to Erimond, at that. “Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges, to avoid more bloodshed?” she hesitated.

“Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally!” Erimond snarled.

And then he summoned the dragon that attacked us at Haven, down from the tower where I’d been so certain Clarel was waiting! Had I somehow sensed it? _Why_?

And why was it so much harder to think clearly the closer it got to where we were standing? I was far too hopped up on adrenaline by that point to fall into a panic attack, no matter how traumatized the events of Haven had left me, but that didn’t stop the wave of nausea that swept through my body as the red lyrium-tainted high dragon swooped overhead. I doubled over, retching. Solas, bless him, quickly placed a soothing hand on my lower back, flooding my body with a light healing spell against the nausea and vertigo.

Meanwhile, Clarel ordered the remaining unenthralled Wardens to help the Inquisition before chasing down Erimond. Unfortunately, most of the mages in the area were already brainwashed, and they attacked us along with their pet demons. The greater demon they’d opened the larger rift to summon turned out to be yet another Pride-zilla. Lovely.

I stood back upright, hastily sticking my earplugs back in before engaging the demons. At that point I was getting pretty good at opening sucking rifts to pull demons back into the fade, but that still left a battlefield of Wardens fighting each other between us and Erimond, with a dragon attacking the whole damned keep from above.

We caught up with Erimond on one of the battlement bridges just as his dragon half-swallowed Clarel, only to drop her again. There was little we could do but watch as she reached up with her last breath to open a fire mine right on top of herself under the dragon’s belly.

The bridge began collapsing underneath Clarel, carrying the dragon with it!

The stones beneath our feet began to crumble...

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got about 4 more chapters after this fully written before I hit the first major gap. Hopefully I'll be able to fill those in before we get there, but if not, it may be a slightly longer interval after Halloween. Probably will be anyway, since that's the week of my birthday, and I'm usually really busybusy!
> 
> <3
> 
> -E-


	28. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down the Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrified and elated. This is the chapter that inspired the whole damned epic self-insert ridiculousness in the first place. I really hope y'all like it!
> 
> <3 <3
> 
> -E-

The beginning is a bit of a blur. The dragon was screaming, and stones fell out from beneath our feet. I was falling, and Solas was falling, and others were falling with us. I instinctively threw my hands up above my head to catch myself, as if to dive through the land like water, and the anchor exploded, opening a rift below us, and I  _ kept falling _ .

Once inside the fade, up was down, and down was up, and I suddenly remembered how to  _ fly _ . The next thing I knew, I had my feathered wings out, and as I landed, I found myself surrounded by my spirits: Ashes was on my shoulder. My lion cloak was resting on my shoulders, with Rabbit riding in the hood. Anselm was landing beside me, and put his wings away as I did mine. My redwood staff was in my right hand, and there were antlers on my head, until I focused for a moment and those, too, disappeared. The ends of my hair were verdigris, which I let stay. I’d had all these things with me at various times in the fade dreams before, but never all at once like that.

For the first time since coming to Thedas, Adele was there too! I greeted her enthusiastically, asking when She had arrived, and then took out my earplugs when I realized how loud my voice was. She said she had been by my side the whole time, but I'd had no need of her, so she'd remained hidden as usual. Apparently my spirit allies can't be hidden from me in the raw fade? 

It was so much quieter and less crowded in the fade. Even the vague sense of unease couldn’t compete with my relief at being alive and out of the main battle. For a moment I just stood there, eyes closed, breathing and willing my shoulders to relax.

Only Solas seemed unsurprised to find me surrounded by my menagerie of unusually well-defined spirits, whom he acknowledged with a calm nod. I stood talking with them all while my other physical companions gathered around, bewildered.

"You want to introduce us to your twin, and her pets, Pipes?" Varric asked, the thin mask of cheerful snark failing to hide his anxiety.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Yes, everyone, I should do introductions. This is Adele. She's not actually my twin, she's my shadow."

"Hence the darker hair and paler skin?" Hawke guessed.

"Pretty much, yeah. This is my cat, Ashes. My wolf is Anselm, and this is Rabbit, my uh... rabbit. They guard and guide me between the worlds. Guys, you already know Solas. These are my friends, Varric, the Iron Bull, Hawke, and Warden Stroud." A round of somewhat awkward greetings ensued from my friends in response to the cheerful acknowledgements from my spirit allies.

"That's great and everything, Boss, but where are we? Are we dead?" Bull asked, clearly extremely uncomfortable.

"No, this is the fade," Solas replied. He sounded slightly awed. I couldn’t help grinning at him briefly.

"Oh, this is  _ shitty _ ,” Bull grumbled. “I'll fight whatever you give me boss. But nobody said nothing about getting dragged through the ass-end of Demon Town."

"Isn't walking physically in the fade how the ancient Magisters caused the Blight?" Varric asked.

"According to the chantry," Hawke answered, nodding thoughtfully. "This isn't what the fade looked like last time I was here."

"This is the raw fade," Solas clarified, returning to his usual lecturing tone, "It is not being shaped by our dreams but by the spirit who rules the area."

"We can still shape it, though, can't we?" I asked. "I mean, I had my wings, my staff and antlers and stuff, and I put them away."

" _ Self _ control is another matter entirely."

"Ahhhh, okay."

"Why does  _ she _ get to fly?" Hawke asked. It sounded like a complaint.

"Practice? I don't know. Why don't you? Don't you fly in dreams?"

"All the time, yeah, but I still can't fly  _ right now _ ," she frowned, mock-petulantly.

"You are not a Dreamer," Solas said.

"Wait, you're  _ somniari _ , Inquisitor?" Hawke looked at me surprised. "I thought they rarely lived to adulthood, because they attract so many demons. Is that why you have all these..." she gestured to my allies, "friends?"

"I guess so? It doesn't work the same way where I'm from," I hedged.

"In our world," Stroud interrupted, "the rift the demons came through was nearby. In the main hall. Can we escape the same way?"

We all looked around for fade rifts. I looked up, out of habit. "There it is. But I'm not sure how we'll all get up there if I'm the only one who can fly here. I doubt we have time for me to figure out how to teach you, when I'm not even sure how I'm doing it myself."

"I don't want to fly, Boss, I just want to get out of here," Bull agreed.

Varric chuckled, still tense, "Remember the last time we ended up in the fade, Hawke?"

"I remember the lot of you being tempted by demons," she deadpanned.

"Well, we got better," Varric replied. Hawke just stared at him, lips twitching. “Sort of…”

We needed to stay focused. "Solas, you're the expert. What should we do?" I asked, directing everyone’s attention to him.

"The fade is shaped by intent and emotion. Remain focused, and it will lead you where you wish to go." He paused, sensing, "The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess."

"Nightmare?" I wondered, remembering the Desire demon that hunted me before, and the monster the spirits had warned us about.

"Quite possibly. I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations and prepare for what is certain to be a fascinating experience." He almost sounded excited. I suppose that makes sense. I get excited about my area of expertise too.

\-----

We wandered for a time. Adele lead me to trapped spirits seeking help, and showed me how to help them. The others helped fend off stray anxiety wisps and the occasional demon.

The raw fade definitely defies physics. There's a lot of floating stone, for some reason, and the open sky is mostly greens and purples, at least in this area. There's a silhouetted castle that is visible in the distance, no matter where you are. They tell me it's the Black City of lore, that it was once the Golden City, before the ancient Magisters, including Corypheus, invaded, and were cast down as the first Darkspawn. Something about that story doesn't add up, but it's not like this place is obliged to be logical.

It doesn't even really follow dream logic either, though. Everything is just kind of  _ there _ , like a cosmic junk drawer or something. It reminds me of that last scene in The Labyrinth where the Goblin King is playing keep-away with the baby in a distorted copy of Sarah's M.C. Escher poster; stairs going every possible direction, with gravity working relative to the nearest surface instead of some larger center. Only if that scene was carved from smooth marble by elves, this was chopped out of rough slate by blind toddlers with explosive cheerios.

Okay, that analogy might have gotten away from me, there...

\-----

We walked up a tall flight of curving stone steps. As we came to the first landing, we found an old human woman dressed in ornate Chantry robes just standing there, waiting for us.  _ (What is it with orthodoxies and big hats?) _

Stroud stopped cold, staring in wonder, or maybe horror. "By the Maker... could that be...?"

"Is this one of your friends, Inquisitor?" Hawke asked.

"No. But she seems familiar… Wait...  _ Divine Justinia _ ?" The figure nodded. "Have you been trapped here this whole time?!" I asked, alarmed.

Stroud shook his head, slowly. "I fear we face a spirit... or a demon."

The figure spoke, almost singing, "You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."

"Surely you can understand our concerns and explain what you are," Hawke said.

"I am here to  _ help _ you," she replied. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor." She went on to explain that we were indeed in Nightmare's domain. Nightmare was in service to Corypheus, and had, on his behalf, created the false call that was compelling the Grey Wardens, encouraging paranoia, and pushing Clarel to her terrible decisions.

Also, Nightmare had apparently stolen several memories from me. So my next task was to retrieve them. I've done soul retrieval before. Finding and acquiring the missing parts is rarely the hard part. Integrating what was lost, though, that can be hard. I could only hope the short time between their loss and recovery would make integration easier.

"Rabbit, time for an egg hunt!” I announced with no-doubt-disturbing cheer. (What? I _like_ egg hunts.) I helped him down, and he went hopping around between the rocks, revealing small glowing orbs waiting for my attention, as we had done many times before. As I took in each part, I heard my memories play again like a radio show, and once a set of memories was complete, I had immersive flashbacks, much the same way I had at that first big rift Cassandra took me to. The effect was dizzying, and I stumbled around when the visions hit. It’s a wonder I didn’t run into anything sharp.

I wasn't sure at first if the others heard or saw. They were more focused on fending off the demons that attacked us every time I got a soul part back. But then Hawke and Stroud started arguing over the Wardens involvement in Corypheus' ritual.

What's confusing to me, though, is that my memories show that I came into the world right  _ before _ the first rift to the fade was created, or at least that I saw what happened there. So where did I come from? When? How? As far as I remember now, my dream of Thedas began with Divine Justinia's voice, and a door opening, and then the orb rolling towards me and my picking it up. Nightmare took those memories from me, but I still don't know what, if anything, came before that.

It gets weirder: in my memories, I was watching the ritual as if through a haze, or on a stage behind a scrim. It wasn't until I picked up the orb she kicked my way that everything suddenly became solid, fully lucid, no longer dreamlike.

We already knew the anchor was indeed deposited on my hand by Corypheus' orb. Or at least, he'd already said as much, and I had no reason to believe he lied about that when everything else he'd said appears to be true.

We weren't able to get a straight answer out of the Divine, as to whether she was the Divine herself, alive or dead, or a spirit who took up her form in her absence, or simply a spirit who took a familiar form in order to  _ help _ us in the moment. But I realized later, as I regained my memories, that she was at least the same spirit who had helped me escape the fade by distracting Nightmare for me. The original Divine Justinia was sucked in after knocking the orb out of Corypheus' hands during his ritual, certainly. So it was either the Divine, or a spirit who took her form as she died, who delivered me from the fade. Either way, clearly it was not Andraste, unless the Divine was an avatar of Andraste, which seemed unlikely.

That seems to be more upsetting to the others than it is to me. The Divine was already Andraste's representative in Thedas, right? So to whatever degree Andraste may have been involved in my coming to Thedas, I see no reason why She can't have used an agent. After all,  _ my _ gods sent an agent - me. Why shouldn't Andraste? Assuming gods work the same way here in Thedas, which has never been at all clear to me. It's kind of hard to get a clear answer when we can't even agree what the terms mean in the first place.

Adele was right, though. Once I got my memories back, I could see that she had stood between me and the demons chasing us, while the glowing woman helped me out through the rift. So  _ that’s _ how I’d gotten away!

\-----

Regardless, true to her word, and nature, the spirit  _ Helped _ . I continued to gather my memories, with Rabbit to guide, and helped various stuck victims of the explosion, with Adele to guide. The others kept demons off my back as I worked.

Nightmare tried to taunt us with our fears. He started with the obvious stuff. "Even if you escape my realm, little Angel, how will you escape this world?" "You have always been the monster. Now others can see."

It was more irritating than frightening, initially, but I was increasingly worried for the others as it continued.

Not as much for myself. I've done my rounds with the nightmares already, several times. My oldest memories are nightmares, cloaked creatures dragging me up stone cliffs, ravenous darkness wanting to consume me whole, grim spectres staring me down with their blank eyes, mysterious enemies chasing me through darkened streets and twisting labyrinths. Unless you can dredge up a fear I don't already know I have, pointing it out doesn't upset me, it just inspires confidence that I know myself as well as I think I do.

I assumed Solas was similarly experienced with nightmares, being a dreamer.

Stroud also seemed unphased. He does fight Darkspawn for a living, so I supposed that made sense. Most of his friends were doomed to die at the hands of blighted monsters before he ever met them.

I think Nightmare managed to hit a nerve with some of the others, though. It taunted Varric and Hawke, blaming each for the other's potential death, as well as all their friends and anyone else they cared about. Both took the taunting in stride, though. It was obvious they were well aware of their own fears, and familiar with how to efficiently shelve them in favor of getting shit done. Still, Hawke has clearly lost a lot. I should buy her another drink when we get back to Skyhold. Maybe she’ll finish teaching me how to play Wicked Grace.

The Iron Bull was, of course, taunted with possible possession. He was seriously freaked out by the whole thing. I know magic unnerves him, but I’d never seen him like that before. He tried to instruct us in how to take him out quickly, taking advantage of his blind side.

“Do you  _ want _ to be possessed, Bull?” I asked, knowing the answer full well.

“Fuck, no!”

“Are you going to agree to something you don’t want?”

“Of course not. But they  _ get in your head _ ,” he growled.

“They  _ try _ , sure. But it’s your head, Bull, not theirs. Just keep refusing. They don’t have time to out-stubborn you before you get to kill them.”

"That I can do, Boss," he replied with grim determination.

Solas's snark was in Elven, though, so apparently whatever his fear is, it doesn't include us understanding. Unless... hmm. All of the fears Nightmare taunted us with, they were given as hints, suggestions, open-ended. So maybe Solas  _ does _ fear exposure, and Nightmare knew he'd be more bothered by being reminded than he would by actually being exposed? Like the point was to leave us waiting for the other shoe to drop? Interesting. They do say the scariest horror is an ambiguous foe, after all. And it’s easier to psych someone out that you don’t actually know enough about by implying that you know more than you do.

Of course, I could be barking up the wrong tree entirely. Maybe the Nightmare just speaks to everyone in their first language? Wait, is elven anyone’s first language anymore...?

\-----

There was a graveyard, with one headstone for each of us, reducing each of our fears to a word or brief phrase. Everybody seemed all but compelled to read their own stone aloud. Most were visibly shaken by it. Some stood very still for a while. Stroud just set his jaw and kept walking. Bull growled, muttering “I said NO,” under his breath.

Dorian: Temptation  
Vivienne: Irrelevance  
Blackwall: Himself  
The Iron Bull: Madness  
Cassandra: Helplessness  
Varric: Became his parents  
Cole: Despair

Sera's impressed me. She had "The Nothing", which is a surprisingly cosmic fear, and one I'm very familiar with. There are all kinds of spiritual tools for dealing with that one. I wonder if she'd let me help her with it? Probably not.

Solas' said "Dying alone." I think I want to talk to him about that. All he did upon reading his was give a pained frown and sigh, before turning away.

Mine said “ _ Turned Cruel _ ". No sooner did I read it than images flooded my mind, similar to the ones Envy had shown me. Standing in a field of dead bodies, smiling with satisfaction. Sitting on the throne at Skyhold, smirking as I passed merciless judgement on others. Using magic to hold a young woman by the throat as she begged forgiveness. I held my breath at the onslaught, pushing back against what felt like an outside force trying to smother me.

Then Adele’s voice reached me. All she said was “Remember.” I closed my eyes, willfully replacing each image with an actual memory. Reaching down to heal an injured companion on the battlefield. Forgiving a dream assassin sent after me, and summoning a Valkyrie to fetch him. Hugging a frightened refugee child as he cried in relief at being rescued.

And then there were fearlings, which everyone saw differently. Hawke, notably, saw spiders. Stroud saw Wardens and Legionnaires turned to ghouls. The others refused to say.

I saw those... things... again. Like dementors, or nazgul. Hungry darkness barely contained by robes, trying to eat people's faces. Which, to be fair, is pretty much exactly how I've personified  _ Fear Itself _ since I was a little kid, so that does make sense. Again, Adele, my shadow, reminded me how I overcame them before. I shrugged and waved a hand, forcing the image to change them all into fuzzy, brightly-colored Muppets instead. That had a convenient side effect of making them easier to spot, too.

My non-spirit team was growing more tense by the minute, their fears provoking anxiety. Their defenses grew sloppy. Only Solas seemed relatively unaffected, and even he was moving more slowly with the effort to stay cautious and focused. For my part, despite the sinking feeling in my chest, I was finding the whole thing increasingly hilarious.

I knew from years of painful experience and spirit training:  _ The best defense against fear and pain is laughter. _

I got a shit-eating grin on my face, and turned around to face the rest of the party, walking backwards for a few steps.

“Varric, tell me your favorite joke.” I turned back around. The ground was pretty uneven, after all, and I wasn't aiming for slapstick.

“What,  _ now _ ? This isn't really the place, Pipes.” he replied, voice tense with anxiety.

“Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?” I prompted stubbornly.

He scowled. “Shit, really? You’re serious?”

“Nope, I'm  _ ridiculous _ . Why did the monkey fall out of the tree, Varric?”

Varric rolled his eyes, still tense. “I don't know, Pipes. Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?” he repeated in a sing-song voice.

“Because it was dead!” I replied, cheerfully.

“What?” Varric gave a startled laugh.

“Why did the  _ second  _ monkey fall out of the tree?”

“Why?” he was starting to relax into the performance.

“Because it was tied to the first monkey!”

The Iron Bull barked out a laugh.

“Why did the  _ third  _ monkey fall out of the tree?”

Varric, Hawke, and Bull all chanted back, “Why?” this time.  _ Excellent _ .

“Monkey see, monkey do!” I declared.

Varric chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, “That… isn't quite the worst joke I've heard, but it's up there.”

“So tell me a better one!” I retorted.

Varric, Bull, and Hawke started trading increasingly dirty jokes. I snapped a bone off the nearest grotesque statue and started playing fetch with Anselm, skipping along like Wednesday Addams on a graveyard tour.

Solas caught my eye, and nodded in mute agreement with my strategy. He and Adele began scouting ahead.

Finally we got to an avatar of Nightmare. That was a hell of a boss fight, but that's all it was, really. A fight. Tiring, tedious, and occasionally painful. Brute force and magic, like Hawke says. Link would be appalled. I didn't even get to poke him in the eye once, much less three times!

Then the escape, climbing that same steep staircase as before. It became obvious that someone had to stay back, to distract Nightmare, to give everyone time for the climb. The Helpful spirit had already sacrificed herself to get us that far. Hawke and Stroud began arguing over which of them should stay behind. Stroud wanted to stay to atone for the Wardens involvement, Hawke wanted to stay to atone for releasing Corypheus.

Then it occurred to me.

"Guys, stop! Why should either of you stay behind? I'm the one with the anchor."

"Exactly," Hawke explained, "You have to go through, to close the rift behind you!"

"Yeah, I get that, I have to wait for the rest of you to go through. But Hawke,  _ I can fly _ ." I don't actually need wings to fly in my regular dreams, but it got the point across, so I pulled them out. And as soon as I did, so did Anselm, howling triumphantly. Adele smiled, serene as always, and moved to stand directly beneath the gigantic spider form that Nightmare had returned to.

"We've got this. It's just dodgeball! I'll catch up and close the rift once you're all safe. Go!"

The Iron Bull scowled, but nodded, and turned to help Varric, Hawke, and Stroud begin climbing the steep hill.

Solas remained, stubbornly, opening his mouth to object.

" _ GO _ !" I ordered, in my best Mom voice, and started flying up, to weave and dodge around the spider's legs, stabbing with my sword and throwing fireballs with my free hand.

War is hell.  _ This _ shit was  _ fun _ ! I got to be all Avenging Angel on a giant spider! Wheeee! Try to threaten me with nightmares, will you? Bitch,  _ please _ . Where I come from, I had nightmares for breakfast!  _ (Literally, because I usually slept past noon.) _ I'm a life-long dreamworker _ ; nightmares work for me! _

I flew from leg to leg, zipping around like a madwoman, cackling with glee. It was exhilarating, not having to hold back any in any way. I didn’t need to worry about lighting the forest on fire, or catching innocents in my crossfire. I didn’t need to worry about hitting too hard, or moving too fast, or shouting too loud. I didn’t need to worry that my sense of humor was inappropriate, that I wasn’t presenting myself the way a Herald of Andraste, or an Inquisitor, or a Priestess, or a Daughter, or a Sister ought to. I didn’t have to worry about anything other than staying alive, and even that seemed like no big deal, because if I died here I’d probably just wake up in my own world, right?

At some point, I remembered something about fears shaped like giant spiders, and started punctuating my sword thrusts and fireballs with " _ Riddikulus! _ " Alas, despite my best efforts on that front, the Nightmare never actually ended up on roller skates, nor wearing an ugly hat.

Ahem.

So anyway, once the last of my companions had climbed the cliff and jumped out of the fade, I heard Adele's voice call up, "Adelheide, they're through. Go!"

And that’s when it all went to hell. Having had me to itself for a while, I guess Nightmare finally dug deep enough to hit some nerves.

“What will you tell your sister’s children when you escape all this? It’s a good thing you don’t have children of your own.  _ We wouldn’t want them to turn out like you. _ ” I winced, memories flashing through my mind of disapproving adults from my childhood, to be replaced by an image of my sister scowling at me with fury and disdain I had never seen from her in my life.

Ashes’ purring drove the image away, replacing it with memories of my sister smiling at me fondly.

“They hate you, you know. Especially  _ him _ . All those years of investment, patience, resources he could have used for someone who loved him in the way he deserved. And what did you do but  _ go mad, abandoning them all. _ ” My beloved partner’s face filled my mind, his expression depressed and disappointed as he placed yet more bottles of psych meds on my desk before walking away, dejected, leaving me in the dark.

Anselm howled, driving the image away, replacing it with my partner’s joyful face as he watched the dogs at the park near our home together.

“They've all gone. There's no sense waiting around for a broken, useless woman to escape her futile dreams and wake up to reality.  _ Can you blame them for abandoning you to your rabbit hole, little Alice, when you had so little to offer them while you were awake?” _

Rabbit snuffled in disdain. “ _ A Rabbit Warren is a home, not a prison," _ he reminded me, banishing the image in favor of memories of long holiday vigils among friends and family.

“You may as well give up now. You’ll never  _ really  _ belong in this world either. They’re just humoring you, and you can't even tell they're lying, can you? Oh, they all know you’re doing the best you can.  _ But your best isn’t good enough. _ ”

I faltered, losing my focus, images of the doomed future we’d seen at Redcliffe flooding my mind, echoed viscerally by the sky of the raw fade around me. _ If I failed here, the huge rift couldn’t be closed, never mind all the smaller ones. Nightmare would be released into the world! _

Nightmare began to close in on me. One of the towering legs clipped my left wing. I heard as much as felt the wet crunch of bones and feathers and muscle and blood. Pain raced through my wing to my shoulder and down my left arm, making me drop my sword. I found myself falling. I watched the water and stones racing towards my head, and braced myself for impact.

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my Lion cloak, and I was upright again! Anselm was dragging me through the air towards the rift. Remind me to thank the Old Man for His excellent choice in guardians if I ever see Him again. Maybe I should pour out a few glasses for Him here just in case.

Anselm dropped me on the top of the landing, as Adele once again drew Nightmare’s focus. I collapsed onto my knees, and sat there panting for a moment, and then looked up, through the rift, to see my friends watching the rift, frantically searching for a sign of me, unable to see through the writhing green light. Clearly, they were not just humoring me.

I dragged myself up and jumped back through the rift, turning immediately to use the anchor,  sealing it shut, before collapsing at their feet.

\-----

I awoke to find Solas sitting by my side, meditating, and realized immediately that he was holding a barrier around my tent, thus explaining my inability to remember any significant dreams. Cassandra was talking to the Iron Bull outside, asking for an update, and being assured that Solas was taking care of me. Bull had likely been standing guard since I was brought back to the encampment.

I reached out my hand, cringing and biting my lip as every muscle in my body clenched painfully in objection to the motion, and grazed the tips of my fingers across Solas’ knee.

He inhaled sharply, and opened his eyes, dropping the barrier, and looking at me. I could see that his eyes were bloodshot, searching my face for something, but his expression was otherwise painfully blank.

“Never do that to-  _ never _ do that again, Inquisitor,” he spoke finally, his voice low and rough.

I shook my head slowly, wincing again at my aching neck and shoulders. “Never which? Open a rift? Walk in the fade? Fly around? Save my friends?”

“ _ You are not a sacrifice! _ ” he barked, only to clamp his mouth shut.

I furrowed my eyebrows, muzzy-headed. “I had no intention of  _ sacrificing _ myself,” I tried to explain, but he cut me off, his expression stern.

“You know very well that you are our only resource for closing the fade rifts. You saw firsthand what would happen to a world where you were not there to stop Corypheus. Yet you  _ repeatedly _ offer yourself as bait, as distraction, as the last line of defense between us and mortal danger!” 

He leaned in towards me, forcing me to lie back on the cot. With each sentence, he grew more impassioned. “You are not the strongest to defeat the enemy, nor the fastest to evade, nor the most cunning to survive, yet you  _ insist _ on placing  _ yourself _ at risk. Redcliffe! Haven! And now, in the fade, facing the largest, most powerful demon we’ve ever seen!? Do you  _ enjoy _ gambling the fate of an entire world on your fragile life? Are you trying to drive me mad?”

His torso hovered above mine, his hands braced above my shoulders against the frame of the cot, his face inches from mine. The warm rush of his labored breaths made me blink repeatedly as I tried to take in everything he had said through the fog of fatigue. His face grew blurry as tears flooded my eyes.

“But… what else do I have to offer, to save you?” I replied, my voice small. “I can’t make them choose somebody else when they’re aiming straight for me. How can I ask somebody else to give up their life when this life isn’t even mine?”

His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “Perhaps you could not have before, but you are Inquisitor now. You can at the very least accept when others  _ offer _ .”

“But Stroud would have died if we’d left him behind!” I wailed, bewildered as to why I was being yelled at for making sure everyone made it out alive. “Why  _ shouldn’t _ I save all of us when I can?”

“Nothing is worth the risk of losing  _ you _ !” his knuckles were white from gripping the cot as he punctuated each word with a shake.

“You mean the anchor,” I spat out bitterly, grimacing at the pain his tremors were transferring to my sore body.

“ _ No _ .” He declared finally, before clamping his mouth shut, and inhaling through his nose. Then he stood up and stalked out of the tent.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to sacrifice Stroud when I was outlining the chapter in my head. As is often the case when the narrative says "I suddenly realized" or such, I really did suddenly realize it *as I was writing*. Heh.
> 
> -E-


	29. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A better dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished writing Ch 32, so I'm rewarding myself (and you!) by posting this one early! <3
> 
> As usual, canon dialogue where applicable, frequently, but not always, altered to suit my sensibilities. (Because, really, this fic is at least 40% "why didn't I get to say X?!" fix it!)

Memories have been slowly reconnecting every day since we left Adamant. Most if it isn’t useful - a clearer memory of Divine Justinia’s face, the exact words spoken by the Grey Wardens helping Corypheus, the floor plan of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

This morning, though, I heard her - I heard Freyja, in my memories.

_ "You must open a path, for we can not walk with you in that place.” _

I’m not entirely sure what that actually entails, and I’m even less sure the others will approve.

But it’s more than I had. So there’s a point to all this shit after all.

\-----

"Solas, can we talk?"

I’d found him reading in the center of the rotunda. I still don’t understand how he can find it comfortable to have his desk right in the middle of the room like that, but I suppose it does make it easier to reach the walls for painting. I’d half expected to find him sketching another set of mural outlines onto the walls, but apparently he wasn’t in the mood.

"Of course, Inquisitor." His voice was stiff, impersonal.

He had spent each night after the battle guarding my sleep from the Nightmare demon, but otherwise avoiding speaking to me. Our only conversation since his bewildering outburst was when we argued briefly the night before leaving Adamant about my conscripting the Southern Wardens, pardoning outright any who had surrendered before we reached Clarel. I’d tried to explain that anyone who readily agreed to Erimond’s plan had already either been sacrificed or controlled by Erimond, and thus killed when they refused to back down. I preferred to place the blame for the truly evil aspects of the plan squarely on Erimond’s loathsome shoulders. For all that he followed my logic, and understood my desire to maintain direct oversight, Solas still felt I was dangerously forgiving.

To be fair, I probably am.

He kept his back to me as he put down the book he’d been reading. “What would you like to discuss?”

I frowned. I hadn’t come to argue again. Quite the contrary. I wanted to understand him better. "There were some things I saw in the fade. And..." I searched for the right words to draw him in without misleading him, or oversharing with the two floors above us. "I'm interested in what you've told me of your... well, of yourself and your studies,” I added formally. “If you have time, I'd like to hear more of your... unique perspective?"

His posture softened, and he turned to look at me with wide eyes, "You continue to surprise me. All right, let us talk. Preferably somewhere more interesting than this."

He gestured for me to sit down with him on the sofa against the wall, and then settled into his customary meditation pose. Of course! We would have more privacy in the fade. I settled in for journey trance, centering, grounding, and then breathing carefully, and allowing my consciousness to shift from the physical world to the fade, following the taste of Solas' spirit.

\-----

I found Solas in the mountains, next to a frozen lake. I looked around the snowy landscape. Wooden buildings, stone Chantry hall, simple walls with trebuchets at the corners. My jaw clenched, and my chest tightened.

Exhaling slowly, I turned to him. "Solas, why are we in Haven?"

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you."

"You brought me to  _ a place outdoors I know well _ ?" I laughed ruefully, covering my eyes with one hand. He wouldn't know the significance, of course. My mentor back home used the phrase to begin guided trance journeys. _ "Sink down and be at ease. Let the solid earth support you... In your mind's eye, picture a place outdoors you know well..." _

I looked around, my throat tight. "After what happened, I can't say I'm particularly comfortable in Haven anymore."

"Ah, a fair point,” he replied, obviously chagrined. “I apologize, Ember. I did not intend to cause you pain."

"It's ok." We both went quiet for a moment, lost in thought. I took a deep breath. "Here, let me show you  _ A Place Outdoors I Know Well _ ."

His head tilted as I used the phrase again, this time catching that it meant something to me.

I closed my eyes and held my arms in front of me, redwood staff in my right hand. The vivid knowledge of my home base in the Wood Between the Worlds came to me easily, and once I had it firmly in mind, I slowly raised my arms, pulling the image of  _ there _ to replace the image of Haven. My arms raised above my head, I took a deep breath, sharpening my sense of _ place _ as I pulled my arms out and down to my sides, willing the air to shift, and the smell of redwood needles and cedar smoke to swirl around me.

Then I opened my eyes, and smiled. We were standing in a clearing in a redwood forest interspersed with cedar, oak, and madrone, lined with blackberry bushes, poison oak, and sorrel. The surrounding trees were so tall, even the clearing was bathed in green shadow in the early afternoon. At my back, two narrow redwoods reached for the sky with octagonal treehouses wrapped around their trunks, linked by a hanging bridge. To my right, there was a very small building with an out-of-place door matching that of my childhood home. A worn, packed-earth path stretched out before me, with a small mound house ahead to the right covered in grasses and sorrel, and a welcoming fire circle to the left surrounded by log benches. I turned around, and sure enough, immediately behind me rose my redwood throne at the base of the two center trees. Beyond them, a circle of narrow standing stones, and a low barrow for entering the realm of the ancestors.

I finished turning, to look at Solas. He was looking around with keen interest.

I closed my eyes and focused again for a moment, holding out my left hand. My fingers reported the familiar touch of horn, and the smell of spiced mead reached my nose. I opened my eyes again.

"Welcome to my home between the worlds, Solas," I smiled, offering him the drinking horn, making sure the point was turned towards him. “Or, well, the image thereof, anyway.”

"It’s beautiful," he replied, solemnly, accepting the mead. He seemed no less comfortable drinking from a horn than he did anything else in the worlds. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Tasting the mead, he smiled, and I grinned at him.

"Good stuff, huh?" He nodded, looking at the contents of the horn, thoughtfully. "It's my ordination mead. Honey, unfiltered apple juice, and spices. I have only a few sips left at home, but I can call forth as much as I please here."

"And what does it ordain?" he asked, amused.

"Oh, no. I mean, it's the mead we brewed to serve at the ritual where I took oaths in service to my gods and community."

"Ah," he nodded, understanding. "A worthy beverage for an important occasion."

"Glad you like it!"

"What sort of trees are these? I've seen similar, but nothing quite this shape - or size."

"These are coast redwood trees. They are the tallest trees in my world, and some of the oldest. They grow much larger than this. They're native to my home, and I am bound to the land they occupy.” I frowned, thoughtfully. “Or I was, anyway. Redwood spirit is…  _ was _ one of my teachers."

"Thank you for sharing this with me. I am honored." His smile was peaceful. His eyes met mine, and I got lost for a moment in the stormy blue, forgetting what to say.

I shrugged, embarrassed, stammering. “Uh, well, you know, hospitality is sacred." I've never been very comfortable with other people's gratitude, or praise, no matter how much practice I get. I could hear Liam's voice in my mind, admonishing me to accept what praise I am offered. I took a deep breath and corrected myself. "You're welcome."

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor," Solas said, suddenly changing the subject, still looking me in the eye.

I blinked, startled. "Oh… I'm glad you were watching over me. I remember you from my earliest dreams here. You were… comforting."

"You were a mystery. You still are." His eyes widened slightly as he searched mine for something. He’d been doing that more and more lately, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. And  _ he _ thought  _ I _ was the mystery?

I frowned slightly. "I wanted to know more about  _ you _ , Solas."

"This  _ is  _ about me,” he insisted. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

"That's our Cassandra," I smiled wryly.

He laughed, "Yes."

I guided him to the fire circle, and knelt down to rebuild the fire.

Solas watched me, pensively, and then began again. "You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the fade. I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, nor she in me. I was ready to flee."

I smiled to myself, stirring the cinders of the previous fire to catch the fresh tinder. "But you stayed," I replied, pleased.

"I did," he agreed. "I told myself, 'One more attempt to seal the rifts.' I tried, and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee."

I looked at him over my shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "The breach threatened the whole frelling world. Where did you plan to go?"

He shrugged, and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, staring at the building flames. "Someplace far away, where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me. I never said it was a  _ good _ plan,” he smirked.

I laughed. It was refreshing to hear, and sort of charming. Solas does not often admit to his faults.

He looked up, and met my eyes. "And then suddenly, you were there, alive,  _ awake _ , fighting beside me. It seemed you held the key to our salvation. You had sealed the rift with a gesture. And right then I felt the whole world  _ change _ ."

He sounded insistent.  _ Admiring _ . There was something in his eyes that I’d never seen from him before, but it still gave me a strange sense of deeper familiarity. Usually when Solas flirted with me, it was a game of wits, nothing more. This? This was something else. It was unnerving, and thrilling at the same time.

I swallowed hard and shoved the thought aside, turning back to tend the fire. "Well, for all our sakes," I replied, sincerely, "I'm pleased that you've stuck around."

"As am I. You have fractured rules of man and nature. And you will shatter more before you are done."

I laughed nervously. "Was it really that impressive?"

"You had walked in the fade! I have explored the fade more than anyone alive, but even _ I  _ can only visit in dreams! But you...  _ you _ could visit me here in body! And you have repeated the feat again! You took me with you! Even a Dreamer should not have that kind of power."

"Erm, sorry? I'll try to put it back when I'm done?" I pursed my lips in mock-innocence.

Solas just kept smiling at me. I’d never seen him smile this much. He was being surprisingly expressive. I was glad he was letting me in, but whatever I was expecting, this wasn't it. Still, I  _ did _ ask, so I moved to sit beside him on the log bench.

"Solas, in the fade, with Nightmare, what did it say to you? In Elven?"

He grimaced, and looked down, turning inward. After a moment, he spoke quietly. "It said... it knew my faults, that I would never succeed, and that my pride would bring only death to all I care for."

My heart lurched. Oh,  _ Solas _ . I reached one arm around him, putting my other hand on his near arm, and squeezed gently. Just a companionable hug. I started to pull away again immediately, but he put a hand on mine, and leaned his head until it was touching my forehead.

"The headstone said your fear was of dying alone," I spoke quietly. "You're not alone, Solas."

"I have been. I will be." His voice was low, pained.

"You don't  _ have _ to be,” I insisted.

He looked up at the trees, his eyes distant. “It often seems inevitable. But, as I told the Nightmare, ‘ _ banal nadas _ ’ nothing is inevitable.” 

“Only change is inevitable, and you can choose to change this.” Then I shook my head, “Look, I know you're an elf, and an apostate, but you don't have to  _ isolate _ yourself like this. It’s not good for you. Even other elven apostates weren’t this isolated before, and we're building a better world for mages and elves now. That's part of the point of all this, right?"

He looked up at me, his eyes wide, searching mine for something. "You actually mean that, don't you? You want to build a better world for elves. You're human. Why would you do that?"

"I want to build a better world for  _ everyone _ , Solas. It's not a better world if elves aren't included. Elves, and mages, and dwarves, and qunari, and spirits, and dreamers and  _ everyone _ . This world is so amazing!" I pulled my arms away to start gesturing enthusiastically. "Magic here... there's nothing like it in my world, even among witches like me. At home, I can move invisible energies to influence things, pull the odds in my favor, help people with spiritual crises. Here I can  _ move mountains _ !" I raised both arms to the sky. "You... you have this huge blessing, this amazing power, and everyone is just using it for a bludgeon to blame and punish each other. When I think about what this world could be..." I shook my head, "I'm babbling again, sorry. It's just, I can't help like this at home. I wish I could. And I  _ do  _ want to go back, but while I'm here, I want to  _ help _ ."

He stared at me, bewildered. "Is everyone in your world like this?"

"Like what?"  _ Naive and prone to babble? _ I added silently, embarrassed all over again.

"Like you,” he said, as if that clarified anything.

"Er, no? Most people aren't dream workers, or spirit workers raised by hippie mystics. Pagans are a minority faith movement."

"So you are as rare there as you are here?"

"I guess? I mean, all the things I am, other people are, but any given person is always a unique mix, right? At home I'm weird, for sure, but I'm not  _ that _ special. I'm not even that impressive compared to a lot of the people I know. I know a lot of really awesome people. Most of my friends are in fringe communities.” I laughed ruefully. “People who disagree with us scoff and call us ' _ Social Justice Warriors _ ', as if that's an insult." I tilted my chin up in mock pride, putting one hand on my chest. "I prefer ' _ Social Justice Cleric _ ', thank you!"

Solas laughed, a mixture of enjoyment and confusion.

“May I ask you something, Ember?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

“Why do you build fires by hand?”

“Oh.” I paused, startled. “I hadn’t really thought about it before. Here in Thedas I could just wave a hand at the fire pit, couldn’t I?” I tilted my head to one side, gazing into the flames. “Back home, my friends used to joke that one of these days I would figure out how to light things on fire with my mind. And now I can. That used to sound exciting to me. Now it just sounds... sad. I  _ like  _ playing with fire, guiding and controlling the natural flame, watching its behavior. It’s like art. Every medium has its own behavior. The best art comes from understanding how the material  _ wants _ to move, and moving with it.” I shrugged. “I like the way fire moves.”

“That’s why you are called Ember?”

“Heh, that’s part of it, yeah. And my hair, my temper, my ‘warm personality’.” I held up my hands to make quote marks around the latter phrase. “The friends who named me were referencing a serial they liked, ‘ _ Elfquest _ .’ I hadn’t read it yet. The main characters have a redheaded daughter, a little spitfire named Ember. Apparently I reminded them of her. I met the author years later, actually. He was extremely amused.”

“You were named after an elf?” he was surprised.

“I… yes, I was. I didn’t think of that!” I laughed. “You have to understand, Solas, there aren’t any physical elves in my world. At least, not anymore, and we have no evidence there ever actually were. Dwarves are just short humans, really. Qunari are  _ right out _ . But elves are beautiful legends, myths people talk about and aspire to. Some say they were tall and slender, and beautiful and noble, and left our undeserving world, taking the magic with them. Others say they’re tiny beings who hid in people’s houses helping out if they liked you, and making messes if you were mean. Yet others say they were dangerous tricksters with strange social rules, inclined to trap human mortals with impossible contracts, and swap babies for changelings. There are a few really wonderful places where the common belief is still that elves are spirits which reside in natural landmarks throughout wild spaces, and we should appease them before presuming to disrupt their land. As far as I can tell, the only consistent feature is the pointed ears.”

“Which do you believe?”

“It’s folklore. It’s all  _ true _ , but none of it’s  _ fact _ . I’ve met each of those kinds of beings in the Otherworlds, though I’m not sure I’d call them all ‘elves’. I believe in landvaettir, and fae, and tomte, and alfar. It’s spirit truth. ‘ _ Tricksters lie by telling the truth. Storytellers tell the truth by lying.’  _ We need both, to build meaning. Dammit, you’ve gotten me doing it again. We came here to talk about  _ you _ , Solas. I can babble any time!”

He laughed again, “In a way, this, too, is about me, Ember. I am, after all, elven, and some say I am a trickster.”

I grinned, “Well, that would explain why you’re so good at misdirection, but so bad at lying.”

“Oh?  Are you so sure of that?” he asked, smirking.

“When you have to actually  _ say _ something that isn’t accurate? You’re like me. You hesitate, and your tone goes a little flat. You only ever lie about your history, as far as I can tell. Like you’re afraid we won’t believe you, or approve of you. Like…” I waved my hands, searching for the right words. “A lot of the things you’ve said you saw in the fade… you saw them other ways, didn’t you?”

He tilted his head, one corner of his mouth pulled up in bemused curiosity, but said nothing.

“I do that, too. I say I dreamt things that actually came to me in waking visions, or happened first hand, but in ways I don’t think they’d believe. If I say I had a dream, they accept it, because  _ everybody _ dreams.”

“Most are not as accepting as you are of strangeness.”

“I live a weird shit life,” I agreed, and then perked up, suddenly remembering, “Hey Solas, isn’t the Elven trickster a wolf? Fen-something? Not Fenris, I’d remember that.”

“Fen’Harel,” he corrected, suddenly going very still.

“Well, you’re sort of wolven, with the necklace and paintings and all. Have you ever encountered Him?” I grinned cheekily. “Ooh! Do you suppose you might be an avatar of Fen’Harel? Wait, are there avatars in Thedas?”

“Perhaps,” his lips twitched again. “What are avatars?”

“Technically, I think it means gods embodied, to walk in the world. Not possession, that’s something else. Avatars are gods living as mortals with their own bodies and everything. In my crowd, we use it to refer to people who so represent a god in the world in their energy and personality that they may as well be the god walking among us. Usually only if they acknowledge that god as a patron, though.”

He looked  _ very _ amused, “And what makes you think I’m the mortal representative of the Dread Wolf, exactly?”

“Well, I don’t know him well enough to judge by spirit-taste or anything. But you just said you’re sometimes called a trickster. If he’s the type of Trickster I know, I can kind of see it? Friend to all, trusted by none, locking both sides of a divine war away from the mortal world rather than let them continue to fight where their actions would harm the innocent?”

“That is not the usual Dalish interpretation, but yes.”

“I may be a little biased. I  _ like _ tricksters. I have worked with several back home. Loki, Exu, Coyote, Ghede. No two are alike, but I’ve learned that they always have coherent reasons for their actions that usually involve ignoring social customs and existing power structures in favor of shattering illusions and protecting the truly vulnerable. They’re all about showing people the difference between ‘good’, and ‘nice’, and ‘ _ right’ _ .”

I paused briefly, resisting the urge to sing  _ Into the Woods _ songs, before continuing. “I’ve never heard any explanation for why Fen’Harel would betray all the other gods, but if what the Dalish remember still involves setting Him at the boundary of their living spaces, facing outwards for protection, and appeasing Him as a gatekeeper, well, that sounds like the other tricksters I know. So we’d probably get along.”

“ _ Fascinating _ ,” Solas replied. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “Most Dalish find Fen’Harel frightening. If they were to actually meet the Dread Wolf, at best they’d try to appease him. Most would run away. If he truly walks in this world, I imagine he is very lonely. If more people believed what you do of tricksters, then perhaps it would not be so bad to be an avatar.” He still seemed  _ extremely  _ amused, if a little sad. He probably thought I was kind of crazy.

“I sound like an idiot, don’t I? I’m mangling your culture. This is none of my business.” I babbled in a rush of anxiety, pulling away.

He reached out, grabbing my flailing hands, and held them together between us. “You are  _ fine _ ,  _ da’len _ . I find your perspective… intriguing.”

“ _ ‘Da’len _ ?’” I asked, distracted. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”

“Literally, it means ‘little one’,” his eyes twinkled with barely-contained mirth.

I looked down at myself, stocky, curvy, a bit tall for a woman, and at his narrower, if taller, lanky body, then looked up at his face skeptically.

He grinned, “It is an endearment, such as an elder might address the youth of their clan.”

“I’m older than I look, Solas,” I reminded him.

“So you’ve said. But then, so am I.”

“Ahhhhh,” I nodded, mock-knowingly. I still have no idea how old he really is, but I’m quite sure he’s way, way older than he’s admitted up until now. He acts like a freakin’ Zen master right up until he accidentally lights his coattails on fire, and then walks it off like a cat that fell off the coffee table.  _ I meant to do that! _

I was startled out of my mental wandering by his breath brushing my cheek. My focus returned to me just as he kissed me! I can honestly say I was entirely  _ not expecting that _ . So of course, like an idiot, I just sat there blinking as he pulled away.

“I apologize,” he said, seeing my confusion. “That was impulsive of me. Things are… easier for me in the fade.”

“No, it’s not… I just… wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” I struggled to focus on his eyes, feeling stupid, and giddy at the same time. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, and put my hands on his elbows, not letting him get away, so I could try to think for a moment. He waited, looking unsure whether he had made a mistake or not, but otherwise patient.

I looked at his face and smiled sheepishly. “Can we maybe... try it again, now that I’m paying attention properly?”

He smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling, and leaned back in to kiss me again. This time, I kissed him back. It was just a kiss, lips closed, warm, soft, and dry. My heart still skipped a beat, silly thing. This was probably a _ very bad _ idea. Or an excellent one? Sure, he knew I didn’t intend to stay in Thedas. But had he taken that into account, being  _ impulsive _ ? Or was this just that, just impulsive, not the start of something bigger?

I pulled back again.

“Solas, I don’t do  _ casual _ , you know that, right? I mean, I don’t expect a kiss to mean ‘till death do us part’ or anything, but a  _ purely _ physical thing isn’t… I can’t  _ do _ that. I always  _ feel _ it.”

He smiled again, eyes dark. “I would expect nothing less.”

“But, I can’t stay forever…”

“Nor can I. But, perhaps... for a time?”

“That… that might be very nice. Can I think about it?”

“Of course. I should probably think about it myself.” But he was still just  _ gazing _ at me. His eyes looked so damned  _ familiar _ . Where had I seen eyes like that before?

_ Alflord _ , I remembered, the face of my beloved god Ingvi Freyr flashing before me. Oh. Oh  _ damn _ .

I closed my eyes, and shook my head, laughing quietly. I was still laughing as I awoke.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was that you said last chapter? "Solas should have kissed her?"
> 
> Sorry, I wrote this chapter before I wrote that scene ;)


	30. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inner Circle is full of feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter overlaps with Raise a Glass, which is the longer, stand-alone version. There is a little bit of content in this version that isn't in that version, and a whole ritual in that version that's left out here.

I reached over and carefully took Solas’ hand in mine, as he awoke. I gave him a half-smile, and nodded. He smiled slowly at me, and nodded back, and then stood up to return to his desk.

I stepped through the door into the great hall, and was immediately caught by Varric.

“Angel!” He greeted me with enthusiasm, “Just the woman I wanted to see!”

“Varric!” I replied, flustered, “Just the man I expected to see, standing right here, where you always do! Wait, did you just call me ‘Angel’?”

He grinned. “After what we saw at Adamant, I thought it was suitable. You don’t like it?”

I frowned. “It’s not much of a nickname for me, Varric.”

He was still smirking. “You don’t think?” 

“It’s just... I’ve been called every possible variation already, you know? Angel, Angie, Angelica, Angelina, Anhela, Anyela. My sister even called me Anjo.”

Varric looked profoundly confused.

“My birth name is ‘Angela’,” I clarified. “‘Ember’ is just what everyone calls me.”

“So that’s why they announced you as ‘ _ the Angel of Jean _ ’ at the Winter Palace! I thought they were being poetic about your birthplace or something.” He laughed at my grimace. “‘Pipes’ it is, then! Anyway, Hawke wanted to have dinner with you - with us - before she leaves.”

“She’s leaving already?” I pouted.

“She doesn’t want to leave Anders with Fenris for too long,” he explained, apologetically.

“I thought she had her sister and your Rivaini friend watching him?”

“Oh, they are, but that’s half the problem right there. Bethany is arguably the sanest of the lot, and she’s a Warden too, after all.”

“Riiight. Well, okay, yeah, I just have an errand or two to run, and then I’m free. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent! I told her we’d meet her in the Herald’s Rest in an hour.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t be busy?”

“I bribed Josephine, of course,” he quipped. Provided he used hot cocoa, that was entirely plausible, though probably unnecessary. She’d ensured that we all had the whole day off after our return from Adamant.

\-----

_The important thing to remember_ , I thought to myself as I trotted across the great hall to Josephine’s office, _is that my beloved Freyr is good at finding me lovers who will grow very_ attached _to me, and that’s not the same as finding lovers who will be_ good _for me. Freyja will find you the love you_ ask for _, or the lover you_ need _, however briefly. Freyr will find you the lover you_ want _, who will want you just as much or more, however ill-advised. If you can gain both Their blessings, you will thrive, but be cautious asking aid in love from only one of Them._

Satisfied with my self-directed lecture, I began humming a song for Freyja under my breath as I opened the doors to Josephine’s office. I mostly just wanted to confirm that I was, in fact, available. And then I was crossing back into the rotunda to talk with Leliana briefly about some security concerns I wanted her advice about. Having settled my errands, I left the main building and crossed the courtyard to the tavern.

The Iron Bull and his chargers cheered my entrance. “Boss!” he shouted, “Join us! We’re getting drunk!”

“What else is new, Bull!” I shouted back.

“Nah, this is different. Fucking fade, fucking demons, we’re getting FUCKING DRUNK!” Bull roared. Well, all right then. I caught Krem’s eye, noticing that he was, as usual, the most sober of the group. I raised my eyebrows, meaningfully. He nodded to me, pursing his lips and closing his eyes briefly. I nodded back, reassured. Krem was a good man, and an excellent lieutenant. He would keep an eye on my bodyguard, and the rest of his crew.

I climbed the stairs to find Hawke and Varric. They had a small table tucked in a corner, and they were sitting opposite each other, an empty space on the benches beside each of them. Sera was sitting on the table, telling some kind of outlandish story as Varric and Hawke laughed. She was clearly tipsy, and kept eyeing Hawke meaningfully. That would be interesting. Sera isn’t exactly subtle. I can’t imagine Hawke didn’t notice, but if she was responding in kind, it didn’t show in her body language yet.

Hawke spotted me first, as I came around the bannister, and Sera followed her gaze to see what had distracted the target of her blatant flirting. “Quizzie-pants!” Sera shouted, “Just what we need, another scary redhead!” Varric covered his face with one hand, laughing too hard to make sound as Hawke rolled her eyes.

“Hello, Sera. You wouldn’t be trying to get into our honored guest’s pants, would you?” I asked, mock-sternly.

“S’right I am!” Sera laughed, and then pouted, “Not really, though. She’s in deep with someone else.”

I nodded solemnly, “I think you may be right. Perhaps you should just give her your blessing and move on.”

Sera blew a raspberry at me, “Psh! You’re no fun,  _ un _ -quisitor,” she complained, and then hopped off the table. She rose up on her toes to plant a messy kiss on my cheek, and then swatted my hip. She’d been aiming for my butt, but I dodged, giving her a _ look _ . Then she walked erratically to her room, her arms out for balance like she was crossing a tightrope. Badly.

I shook my head, fondly, settling one hip on the table, and gesturing to Hawke and Varric’s drinks. “Finish them, and we’ll go eat in my room. We can talk more freely there, and besides, I’m expected to honor our more esteemed guests with tea and cakes and a peek behind the curtain.” I frowned, “Is there no way to say that that  _ doesn’t  _ sound wrong?”

Varric laughed.

\-----

We settled into my room with a platter of cheeses, a bottle of mead, and a bottle of dark red wine. I took a moment to stoke the hearth, but Hawke laughed.

“Why don’t you just use magic? Bethany does.”

“Why  _ do _ I keep forgetting that?” I asked myself, bemused.

“You’re certainly a strange one, Ember,” Hawke said. “You’ll take out demons with a wave of your hand, but forget how to light the hearthfire?”

I laughed, “I know, right? It’s kind of a long story, though.”

“Speaking of demons and stories, Pipes, would you care to explain how you could walk through a Nightmare Demon’s domain in the fade like you haven’t a care in the world? Andraste’s Ass, you were cracking bad jokes about dead monkeys! What was that all about?”

“Ahh. That, too, is kind of a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?” I winced.

Hawke laughed at me again. Well, at least she’s amused? “Oh, he definitely wants to hear it. Long stories are Varric’s favorite kind!”

I gave them a tired half-smile. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I sighed. “I could do that because I’m used to worse. When I was four years old I started having these really terrifying nightmares where I was being dragged by robed figures with no faces. Their hands were thin, and bony, but very strong. That’s what my fearlings looked like, by the way, but in miniature, so it was actually kind of funny. That just made it easier to make them even funnier by forcing them to look like brightly-colored furry puppets.”

I smiled wryly, and continued. “Anyway, in my nightmares the creatures dragged me up stone steps curving around a mountain. The sky was always stormy, the only light was from fires below us reflecting off the clouds, and the too-frequent flashes of lightning. At the top, there was always this huge cube, maybe a hundred feet tall, made from something so black that it seemed to suck the light away from its surface. They would drag me across the packed dirt ground and throw me into the cube, right through the wall. I realized there never was any wall. Whatever the cube was, it just  _ contained _ this inky darkness, and I couldn’t see anything at all. I always ended up clinging precariously to the edge of the crumbled dirt slope inside, inches away from falling.”

I frowned, staring into the fire. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still hear the layers of screams of the children who had been thrown in ahead of me. There must have been dozens, maybe hundreds, some very near, and loud, some very far, and faint. Crying, screeching, whimpering. The Darkness was eating them alive.”

Varric whistled low. “Shit, Pipes. How did you escape?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes, I just woke up, screaming, and my father would come in with a light to banish my fears. Sometimes, I was rescued by two of my goddesses who would bring a glowing orb. At first, I could barely see it through the living Darkness. It wasn’t until they pulled me out into the open air that I could see it was actually a miniature sun.”

“Did you ever fall in?” Hawke asked quietly.

“Never.” I shook my head, and then shrugged again. “At least, not that I can ever remember. I think once I started to lose my footing, and woke up suddenly, as if I’d just landed in my bed. Those kinds of awakenings were what made my dad worry the most, actually. It convinced him that at least some of my dreams were real.”

“Was your dad an apostate too?” Hawke asked.

I shook my head again. “We don’t have the Circle of Magi where I come from. But yeah, my dad did practice some magic. Mom was actually really mad at him for a while, because she believed he was the one who attracted the more frightening spirits to me.”

“My dad was an apostate. He taught Bethany,” she replied.

I nodded, “So you’ve said. You must miss him terribly.”

“Sometimes,” she agreed, falling silent for a moment, thinking. “I would think those early experiences as a dreamer would make you  _ more _ vulnerable to the Nightmare demon, not less.”

“I’m sure it would have when I was younger, but I’ve done a lot of work since then. I’ve gone back into the darkness to reclaim my shadow.”

“Your shadow - that was the woman you introduced us to? ‘Adele’?”

“Yeah. I might not have gotten through the rest of it without her, then or now. She taught me how to fight through monsters and dream assassins alike until I could forgive them and send them away without guilt or fear. After a time, others began seeking my help with their own nightmares, and if it was more than I could handle myself, I’d call on her and my Papa to take over. By the time I was done learning to master my nightmares, the monsters had started calling me ‘Boss’.”

“I don’t think the Nightmare demon is going to call you ‘Boss’ any time soon, Pipes,” Varric laughed nervously.

I shrugged. “Maybe not. Or maybe I have work to do. A colossal spider would look  _ terrible _ in the uniform, though,” I smirked.

\-----

I felt a draft, and heard muttering, and then a thud, and muffled swearing. Sera came up the staircase, about as graceful as we’d left her at the tavern. “What’s all this, then? You’re havin’ fun without me? Can’t be. ‘S no fun without  _ me _ .”

“Oh Sera, won’t you join us?” I replied, mimicking the invitation I hadn’t issued, “It just wouldn’t be the same without our resident elven anarchist.”

“Damn right!” she said, swaying only slightly. For such a small creature, she could hold her liquor surprisingly well.

Far more surprising was Cassandra coming up the stairs shortly after her. “Inquisitor!” she said, breathlessly, “I tried to stop her!”

“We’re just hanging out, Cassandra, it’s not a big deal. You may as well join us, at this rate. It might be nice to not be the only relatively sober person in the room!”

“Oh... Well, then, I will stay. Thank you,” she agreed, sounding relieved.

I looked around the room, growing slowly suspicious. How did I end up the impromptu host of half my inner circle? And if it was on purpose somehow, where were the other half?

As if on cue, more footsteps clattered up my stairs. Okay, this had to be on purpose. I looked at Sera, raising an eyebrow. She grinned at me. “I tol’ you, ‘s no fun without me!”

I chuckled, shaking my head, as the rest of my inner circle clattered in, chatting amongst themselves, carrying bottles and flasks, and the occasional basket of pastries. Josephine sent for more floor pillows when she saw how many had gathered.

Blackwall was conspicuously absent.

“He’s probably hip-deep in a kitchen wench!” Bull volunteered, making Josephine blush. I rolled my eyes, silently supposing that Blackwall was with the other Wardens, who were understandably deeply affected by the events at Adamant. He had more important things to attend to than a drinking party with our motley crew.

When I was certain everyone was settled, I held up my glass, and waited for everyone to do the same.

[“To absent friends.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17337266)

\-----

Hours later, most everyone had stumbled away to their own rooms, and the fire had died down. I settled in front of the hearth, stirring it back up and adding a log, gesturing for Cassandra and Cullen to sit on the sofa behind me. I fetched three cups and a pitcher of water to begin sobering up before settling down on the rug in front of the fire.

“I can never sleep immediately after that ritual,” I explained. “It’s always really intense, and I’m always playing midwife to the grief, so it takes a while to let it all settle out. I don’t like to drink that much myself. So I just do it to take care of everybody else.”

“Well, thank you,” Cullen replied, sincerely, pronouncing each word with care. "It was very... effective."

I smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for letting me!”

“We should sleep,” Cassandra said. “We have meetings in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

We all stood up, and I offered them each a hug goodnight. Cullen embraced me without hesitation, but Cassandra seemed slightly more awkward. She’s still not used to hugging me, it seems. I was a little surprised Cullen was so comfortable with it this time, but he was pretty wrung out, and probably still tipsy.

As they moved towards the stairwell, I looked at my huge bed, and sighed audibly.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen asked, pausing at the top of the stairs as Cassandra exited.

“Oh, nothing new. I just…I hate sleeping alone,” I admitted, frowning at my pillows. “Before I came here, it had been years since I’d slept for more than a night or two in an empty bed. It just feels wrong . Especially on days like today, to go from a room full of people I love to being totally alone...” I sighed again, turning to look at him. His expression was sympathetic. I blushed, suddenly flustered. “It’s fine. I’ll get over it. See you in the morning, Cullen.”

“We love you too, Ember,” Cullen replied quietly, before moving down the stairs. “Goodnight.”

\-----

That night I found myself standing in the middle of a bacchanal in full swing. I knew I was dreaming, but I was relieved to  _ just _ be dreaming, not wandering the fade into other people's dreams, or fending off demons.

I meandered from one dimly-lit room to another, quietly observing clusters of lovers. They were arranged in pairs or more, here on a pile of pillows, there on a bed or a couch, all deeply involved in each other's skin and hands and mouths, and oblivious to my presence. Everyone knew they were not alone in their carousing, that they might be observed; that was part of the offering to Dionysos.

The faces were familiar, though not all were people I’d ever seen at such a party before. My sweeties were there. My heart ached seeing them. Mostly it was comforting, even knowing they weren’t real, but it was lonely to have everyone ignore me. I looked around, hoping someone would reach out for me, that I wasn’t just standing there alone, out of place, and finally, in tears.

Suddenly, a low, rich voice reached my ear. "This is not the sort of dream I ever expected to find you in,  _ ma’falon _ ."

I startled as the dream suddenly became crisp, more lucid.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to find me in this dream, Solas." I turned to face him. "' _ Ma’falon _ '?"

"An endearment," he smiled slowly. He fit into the scene around us surprisingly well.  _ Better than I did, certainly. _

"Like ' _ da'len _ '?"

"But without the implication of age difference, yes."

I looked around. The various lovers still took no notice of us. Our quiet conversation was not disruptive to their revels. Of course, they were just wisps enacting memories, so it didn’t actually  _ matter _ .

I shook my head to clear it, and looked back to Solas. "Did you need something?"

He leaned toward me, nodding slightly. "I felt you dreaming. You seemed upset, so I came. What does this dream mean to you, that it is upsetting?" He looked genuinely concerned.

I began walking, gesturing to aspects of the dream, even as it shifted around us. "This is a revel for Dionysos, god of the vine. My lover back home used to host them. I've never been inclined to drink very much, or..." I gestured to the lovers, "... _ play _ where others could watch me. So I would offer to help host, so that others could enjoy."

"Why attend such a gathering, if it doesn't suit you?" He glanced around the room.

"I enjoyed the ritual and feast aspects, and my gods are  _ very _ fond of sex. At first, I felt it was my duty to accustom myself to it. Then it was a way to push myself, to understand myself better, and ultimately, to serve. I would drum for everybody, and sing. Sometimes I brought my paints and offered to decorate people's skin."

"You paint?" He looked up, obviously delighted.

It was  _ adorable _ .

I blinked, my breath catching for a second. "Er, not like you. But if you have the supplies and know anyone who wants to look like a cat, let me know?" I gave him a half-smile. "What about you, Solas? You seem a lot more comfortable here than I'd have expected. Do orgies come up very often for solitary elven apostates, or are you just tipsy still?"

He smiled slowly, the expression equal parts enticing and unnerving, "The  _ passions _ invoked in such a setting are more than sufficient to attract spirits to observe and remember."

"Of course." I flushed, looking down and away, trying to find somewhere to rest my eyes that didn't land on sex. “I suppose I should have thought of that.” I started moving again, only to stop and raise my hands, suddenly flustered, glancing around frantically for some idea what to do with myself.

And then he was there, warm at my back, chin near my shoulder, his long arms reaching around to take my fluttering hands in his own. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking with growing anxiety, unable to understand the words he murmured in my ear. His tone was low, calming,  _ lulling _ . I couldn't tell if he was speaking Elven or if my mind was just too overwhelmed to parse his words. He pulled my arms in with his, wrapping both sets around me, to hug me firmly.

I fought with my breath, trying to force myself to breathe slowly and evenly, only to catch myself holding it in, clenching down to avoid shuddering. I felt a wave of soothing warmth wash over me, through my body, and sighed, almost going limp. Finally, I was able to hear his steady stream of words, alternating languages. "Shhhh, you are safe here,  _ Lethallan _ .  _ Banal enfenim _ . I will not allow you to be harmed."

"N-no, I'm not scared, Solas, I'm just... there's too much..." I took a deep breath, trying to focus through the haze of suppressed anxiety and calming energy. My mind wouldn’t stop racing around. Anxiety that I didn’t belong where I was,  _ or anywhere else _ . Sorrow over missing my loved ones. Ah! And  _ fear _ that if I got involved with Solas, no matter what happened, where I ended up when all this was done, there would always be _ someone _ I loved that I abandoned in another world. "I guess I  _ am _ scared, yes. But it's... complicated."

"I would not do anything you do not wish, and no one else here is real," he assured me in a quiet voice.

"That doesn't actually help, Solas. They're all real  _ people _ , they're just not really  _ here _ . I just...” I shuddered. “There’s too much… I can’t...” I took another gasping breath and let it out in a slow stutter.

"Change the dream. It's yours to change." His breath was warm against my ear, tickling the fine hairs on my neck. I shivered, my eyes still squeezed shut.

"I can't focus like this."

"May I?"

" _ Can _ you?"

"Look up."

I opened my eyes and tilted my head back onto his shoulder. We were outdoors, in a forest. The sky was dark, scattered with stars, and the trees twined with crystal spires lit from within, a city floating in the canopy. Great swooping bridges connected the spires like ribbons draped across the trees. I could see no way to reach them from the ground.

" _ Lothlorien _ ," I breathed, relaxing finally.

"Arlathan," Solas corrected.

"It's so beautiful! Is this a real place in this world?"

"It was once, but no longer. What did you say? ' _ Lath-lah-reun _ '? That sounds... more appropriate to our previous location." He sounded  _ extremely _ amused.

I turned my head, trying to look at him sideways. "How so?"

"In Elvhen, it would mean something like 'the voice of love's release'."

" _ Seriously _ ?"

He laughed, "Yes. But your pronunciation wasn't quite right for that meaning. Where did you hear that phrase?"

"It's the name of a beautiful Elven forest city out of time in a story from home. It’s supposed to mean ‘Dreamflower’ I think. Anyway, I'm pretty sure there's no relationship between Tolkien’s Sindarin and your real language."

"What a strange coincidence," he mused.

I laughed. "There are  _ far _ stranger coincidences between our worlds than that, or I would be a lot more lost than I am. Didn't you ever wonder how I arrived fluent in Dwarven Trade language?"

"It did not occur to me to wonder why you spoke as any other human would, no. At least, not at first. Once I realized how different you were, there were far greater wonders to contemplate. You emerged from the fade, seemingly from worlds beyond the void. Do all spirits make such a journey? If so, why do you alone remember?"

"So, the void is the space between worlds, then? Ginnungagap? Wait, don't your stories say the taint came from the void, or something? If the void is where spirits come from and return to, why does contact with the void by the embodied bring taint? Is there more than one void? Of course, I’m not  _ from _ the void myself, so presumably I passed through it to get here, which begs the question, how did I traverse the void safely? Is it just that it’s safe to do so without a body? And where are other spirits from, then? Are they all from the other worlds? Is Helheim  _ leaking _ ?”

I stopped myself, finally. “I'm babbling again, sorry."

Solas laughed, "Do not apologize. I enjoy listening to you think aloud. It is intriguing.”

"So I'm told.  _ And yet _ ."

"And yet?"

"And yet, I've been yelled at so many times for talking too much, it's hard to accept."

He nudged my ear with his nose, and asked gently, "Who tells you it is enjoyable and who tells you it is too much?"

"Lovers and authority figures, respectively," I acknowledged. "I've known a lot more of the latter than the former."

He held me tighter for a moment. "How many lovers have you had?"

I blinked at the sudden shift in topic. I supposed I set myself up for that one. Or maybe I should have been surprised it hadn’t come up earlier, given where we’d started.

"I guess it depends,” I finally replied. "Do spirit relationships count, or just physical ones?"

"How many times have you been in love?"

"Not limited to requited love or physical relationships? Too many to count."

His sharp exhale was warm against my neck. "That must be an incredibly painful way to live," he murmured.

"Not as painful as trying  _ not _ to love,” I snorted. “For me, anyway.”

He paused, breathing slowly, before speaking quietly in my ear. "Even when you have to let them go?"

I squeezed his arms wrapped around my torso. "I've let a lot of people go for love, over the years. When I’m in love with someone, what I want first and foremost is for them to be happy and well. I know all too well, that doesn’t always mean being with me.”

He didn't speak for a long moment. I turned my head to try to see him in my peripheral vision, and he pressed a soft kiss to my temple, humming quietly in thought.

"If we were to pursue this,” he spoke slowly, cautiously, “I would want you to myself, at least for a time."

I squeezed his arms again. "I figured that. Most people here would, I assume. That's part of why I haven't pursued anyone."

"Part, but not all?"

I inhaled sharply. "I need to go home when all this is over. I can’t settle down. I'm not sure if I even  _ can _ have children here, but as much as I want them, I'm sure I  _ shouldn't _ . I have nothing at all to offer a partner. But I can't just take someone into my bed for one night, no strings attached. I don't work that way. So it's been easier to just... not." I held my breath, trying not to cry again.

"I would not expect any of those things from you. I do not expect that you will bear me children, or settle down with me somewhere. Not only do I  _ not _ expect you to stay, I intend to help you find a way to return home."

"Even if you fell in love with me?”

We stood silently for a time. He tucked his head into my neck, inhaling deeply. I sighed, tilting my head down. In all this time, neither of us had moved. His arms were still wrapped around mine.

"Tell me about the gods you love," he said quietly.

"Oh dear," I chuckled softly. “There are a few. The most prominent are Freyr, Cernunnos, and Dionysos. They always have a certain domain. I’m not sure how to explain it to you."

"Dionysos. You mentioned him earlier. God of the Vine?"

"Yes, the growing green is part of the domain as lords of the land. They’re associated with antlers or horns, though not all are crowned with them."

"Crowned with horns? What must you have thought of the Qunari when you first saw them?"

I busted up laughing loud and hard, falling backwards into him, unable to breathe for a bit. "The first time I saw the Iron Bull, it was all I could do to keep a straight face,” I admitted. “Dionysos would probably adore the Iron Bull. Bull would be terrified of Dionysos if he knew enough about him, though. He is also a god of madness, after all."

“You love a god of madness?” He sounded more curious than concerned.

“It takes one to know one,” I smirked. He hummed thoughtfully in my ear.

"Freyr, I think, you have also mentioned before."

"The Alflord," I nodded. "I can't decide if you'd love him or hate him. Maybe both. He rules Ljosalfheim, the homeworld of the light-elves."

“Does he keep them as slaves?”

“Not that I know of, no. To be honest, it’s never occurred to me to ask.” I laughed. “As far as I can tell, with the exception of those who serve him directly, the Alfar mostly just ignore him and go about their own business. I think his job is to intervene with other gods on their behalf, or something.”

He hummed in my ear again.

I turned around to look him in the eyes. “What about you, Solas? You’ve hinted at being lifetimes older than me. You must have fallen in love sometime.”

“Not in a very, very long time,” he replied. He seemed sad.

“A long time is not never,” I observed, cupping his cheek with my hand.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, “but it’s long enough there are none left but me to remember.” He looked down, as if my knees were suddenly fascinating. I frowned.

“I’m sorry, Solas. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He inhaled sharply and looked up, as if seeing me suddenly for the first time. “No! No, you did not upset me. It is…” he turned his head to kiss the palm of my hand absently. “I haven’t thought about them in longer than I’d realized.” He frowned slightly, his gaze abstracted again. “It shouldn’t be this hard to remember. I didn’t know I’d allowed myself to forget.”

“Do you want help? Cole is good at making people forget, maybe he can help you remember?”

He looked up at me and smiled, but it was a flat smile, his face again that impassive mask he held up to the world. “That is an interesting possibility.”

I sighed again. I do that a lot, even in dreams, apparently.

“We should probably  _ wake up _ .”

\-----

Blackwall was not, in fact, hip-deep in a kitchen wench. Blackwall was nowhere to be found.

Leliana pulled me aside this morning handing me two files, one on Warden-Constable Gordon Blackwall, and one on a former Orlesian soldier, Lieutenant Mornay. Mornay is scheduled to be executed in Val Royeaux soon, and she believes Blackwall left us to attend the execution. She suspects she knows why, but can’t yet confirm her suspicions.

\-----

I looked up from the piles of reports Leliana has me pouring through to discover a plate of my favorite cheesy bread sitting on my table next to a cup of milk tea. Blessedly, I finally realized what I was smelling before it had gone cold, but I have no idea how it got there.

I mean, I do know, generally. Solas and I have taken to bringing each other treats at our respective desks when we know the other is deep in research or paperwork. The fact that his desk is significantly more accessible than mine is more than compensated for by the fact that he’s way better at fade-stepping than I am, and I’m a lot more likely to actually lose track of my environment than he is when reading. But I didn’t think I was  _ that _ oblivious. Blackwall’s disappearance has me more distracted than usual, I guess.

Either that, or Solas is cheating and getting Cole’s help...

\-----

We almost didn’t get to Val Royeaux in time. Mornay was standing on the gallows block as we arrived. Blackwall was indeed there. Or should I say, Captain Thomas Rainier.

He interrupted the execution a la Jean Valjean in  _ Les Miserables _ , declaring himself the true guilty party, and allowing himself to be taken into custody. Mornay was spared, but not released.  Cullen and Leliana assure me that we have ways to get Blackwall back, if that is what I want.

I’m not sure what we should do, honestly. I believe in weregild, I believe people have to face the real consequences of their actions. But I grew up in a post-Nuremberg world. Mornay isn’t innocent just because Rainier gave him an order. Still, the world isn’t necessarily a better place if we make either or both of them suffer just because we can.

I need to think about this.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the bits about EmberQuizzy's life before Thedas are drawn from my real life.
> 
> Elvhen language bits beyond canon pulled from Project Elvhen by FenxShiral


	31. Façades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some masks reveal more than they hide.
> 
> Some revelations give more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a fair bit of canon dialogue, but all of it is pointedly modified. Granted, sometimes the point is that I think I'm hilarious. ;p
> 
> This is also the chapter where Execution goes. A shorter version of the beginning scene of that story is contained here, and I will link the story at the end of it. The separate story tells you the rest of how that particular judgement goes.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are deeply appreciated! Eternal gratitude to my beta readers, UncleDark and Cowoline.  
> -E-

Josephine surprised me today with a note from Empress Celene herself. Celene has issued a general pardon for soldiers who served Gaspard, with exceptions for special cases. Apparently she wants our help dealing with those special cases, especially when they involve people we’ve dealt with directly. This is likely Celene’s way of avoiding offending half her population regardless of what she decides; if the judgment is mine, so is the blame.

The first case she has directed our way is, of course, our own dear Blackwall. I’m not sure if we’re doing her a favor or if she’s doing us a favor. Josephine said the best diplomacy is when both sides benefit.

I hadn’t thought about the civil war aspect of the question. Does that complicate or clarify?

\-----

 ~~Blackwall~~ Rainier and Mornay were brought to Skyhold today. I spoke with Thom briefly. He’s angry that the Empire and Inquisition are playing politics. He believes we should just execute him for his crimes, finally, and have done with it. And let Mornay go. I told him it was more complicated than that, and he accused the Inquisition of being corrupt.

I sighed.

“You know me better than that,” I admonished.

“I thought I did,” he grouched.

“When have I ever put a person to death when there might be a better use for them in the world? Especially the truly remorseful, who are willing to accept responsibility for the results of their actions? When has punishing the guilty _ever_ been my priority?”

He looked up, finally meeting my eyes. “You don’t. You only seek to protect the innocent. That’s why I followed you.”

“That’s why you _chose_ to follow me.”

“Yes,” he agreed, frowning. “I’ve made my choices. Why should I not pay for them?”

“Oh, you will,” I assured him sternly. “The question we need to answer is _how_.”

His face relaxed a bit, at that. “Fair enough, Inquisitor. I will accept your judgement.”

“Not that you had a choice, at this point,” I sighed, “but thank you.”

\-----

I sat in the fiery throne on the dias at the end of the great hall, an audience gathered at a respectful distance. There were several prisoners to sentence. Not my favorite job, but it had to be done. I’d reviewed each case in detail in advance, of course. These weren’t trials, they were spectacles. The show of judgement was largely for the sake of the public audience, not the accused. Still, while I considered the variables, and likely sentence in advance, the decision was not official until it was announced to the public, so we allowed them each a final statement - some more generously than others.

Josephine stood to one side with her customary noteboard. “First, Inquisitor, we were finally able to apprehend Mayor Gregory Dedrick of Crestwood. He has confessed to deliberately drowning dozens of refugees and villagers during the blight.”

“We read your note. Would you like to explain further?” I asked the older man.

“I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but it was all I could think of. They were already dying of the blight. If I hadn’t done it, the blight might have spread to the rest of the village and the land. I saw no other way, your worship.” He hung his head in shame. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I believe it had to be done.”

“Mayor Dedrick and the Ferelden crown have agreed to accept your judgement in this matter, Inquisitor,” Josephine added.

I had confirmed with Josephine in advance that the sentence I had in mind was acceptable. “Mayor Dedrick, the actions you took during the blight were terrible and bloody, but not so terrible as the blight itself. Looking at the situation in Crestwood when I arrived, and as you described, it seems to me that your methods would have allowed for anyone who was not already disabled by the blight to escape in plenty of time, thus sparing any who could reasonably be spared. It is also clear that while drowning is a truly terrible death, it's both faster and more merciful than dying of the blight, with far fewer ongoing consequences. Therefore, as it is very clear that you made a difficult choice of impossible options during a time of war and crisis, I am giving you to the Grey Wardens as a conscript. The Grey Wardens need men like you, who can make hard choices with sound reasoning, especially now.”

“Thank you, your worship. I do not deserve the honor or your mercy.” He was staring at his own feet, abjectly. I frowned at him in sympathy.

“This is _not_ a mercy, Master Dedrick. Joining the Grey Wardens is a death sentence. One way or another, you will die in the cause of defending our lands against the Darkspawn who sealed your fate ten years ago. Maker have mercy on your soul.”

\-----

Josephine looked at her notes, and then looked up with an impish smile. "This was a surprise. After you returned from Adamant, we discovered this man attacking the building. With a… goat.”

“What?” She hadn’t told me about this one in advance, for some reason.  “ _How?_ ”

“He tossed them at the walls with a catapult!” the Iron Bull called out from the side of the room.

“ _Goat-a-pult!_ ” another, higher voice called from somewhere in the back.

I held up a hand to silence the crowd, frowning.

“The goats have been healed, Your Worship,” Josephine assured me, noticing my concern. “They are currently in Master Dennet’s care.”

She gestured. The guards brought forth an Avvar man dressed in fur knickers, a large goat headdress, and blue paint. The Iron Bull smirked at me. I looked around for the Skywatcher, but he wasn't present, apparently. That was worrying - I didn’t know much about Avvar law, and hadn’t prepared in advance for this judgement.

“Chief Movran the Under,” Josephine continued. “He feels slighted by the killing of his Avvar tribesmen, who,” she emphasized, “repeatedly attacked you first. What should we do with him? Where should he go?"

I raised an eyebrow at Chief Movran. " _Goats?_ "

The large man laughed. "You killed my idiot son, and I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goat's blood."

I raised both eyebrows at that, glancing at Josephine, to see if she had any further input.

"Don't look at me," she deadpanned, shrugging.

"He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A redheaded mother guarantees a brat!" he laughed.

I dropped my eyebrows at that blatant insult, sticking my tongue in my cheek briefly.

"Do as you've earned, Inquisitor," he concluded. "My clan yields."

I closed my eyes briefly, shaking my head. "Right. I don’t want a feud, and there’s been enough bloodshed already.” I sighed, and then looked at him sternly. “I do not, however, appreciate the abuse of perfectly innocent goats! If you wished to pay me weregild for the trouble your son caused us, you should have delivered the goats by hand, not by catapult," I admonished.

He laughed, as did several in the audience. I waited out the murmurs, wracking my brain for a suitable punishment on short notice.

"Chief Movran, I banish you and all the warriors of your clan to Tevinter, with all the weapons you can carry. You must first relinquish any further goats in your direct care, as I deem you unfit for goatherding. The rest of your clan may choose whether they prefer to relinquish their goats and accompany you to Tevinter, or keep their goats and appeal to other Avvar clans for protection."

Chief Movran cackled with delight.

I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. “ _Goats._ ”

\-----

Josephine took a deep breath for the next announcement. “The next judgement is offered as a favor to Empress Celene. Given the strength of your convictions, and your neutrality in the matter of the imperial crown, she felt you would be in a better position to discern the best path for these two men, whose fates are entwined. Orlais therefore submits, for the judgement of the Inquisitor, former Captain Rainier and Lieutenant Mornay, both lately of the Orlesian army. They are charged with treason for the murder of General Lord Vincent Callier, his civilian wife, and their guards, and most particularly, their children. Furthermore, Rainier is charged with impersonating a Grey Warden-Constable.”

The crowd stirred as Rainier and Mornay were marched in. Rainier winced when he spotted Josephine, and then scowled at me. Josephine pointedly kept her eyes locked on me, only a slight furrow of her brows betraying her upset at seeing her would-be champion in such a state. Mornay just looked confused and dismayed. The Orlesian nobles in the room watched me carefully, and my inner circle watched with concern, but it was obvious nobody else much cared.

I looked at the two disgraced soldiers, my face stern, and braced myself for the drama. I already knew most of the answers to my questions, unless they’d changed their claims. This performance was for the sake of record. “I’ve done some research on you two. It seems the order Rainier gave came from a Chevalier, one Ser Robert Chapuis, loyal to Duke Gaspard. Gaspard has already been executed for his treason. Chapuis has already killed himself in disgrace. Most of the men subordinate to you two have already been sentenced for treason.” I tilted my head. “Odd. Had Chapuis hired the assassins guild, or sent a Bard, Chapuis would be considered the guilty party, unequivocally.”

Josephine cleared her throat. “Messier Rainier pleads guilty, Your Worship. Messier Mornay pleads orders from a higher rank.”

I pursed my lips. “Ah, but you were _both_ following orders from a higher rank. So let me ask you this: Rainier, did you know the children would be there?”

“No, Inquisitor, I did not,” Rainier replied clearly, without looking up. “The only specific order was to kill Callier himself. But the order was also to leave no witnesses, so I expected his guards would die as well.”

“So,” I reiterated, “your intended targets were a military officer and lord who was thoroughly steeped in the Game, and his professional guards, all of whom knew the stakes. Did you see a problem with this order?”

“Yes. Callier was loyal to the Empress. Chapuis offered me a bribe, because I knew it was to benefit Gaspard.”

“I see. Thank you, Rainier. Mornay, when you saw the children, did you order the others to spare them?” I asked.

“N-no, Your Worship,” Mornay stammered.

“Did you know that there is no accepted reason for children to be a _military_ target?”

“I did, yes, but we had our orders!” he insisted.

“I see. So, both of you passed the order on despite recognizing that the order was dubious in some way. As far as I am concerned, either both of you are guilty, or neither of you are. So which is it?”

Mornay looked up, confused. “Your Worship?”

“I am guilty, he is innocent!” Rainier insisted.

“How so?” I asked.

“He was only following my orders! But I _knew_ the order was dubious. I accepted the bribe purely for my own personal gain.”

“So you are definitely guilty of taking a bribe. But that is not what you are charged with. Did you, or did you not have a direct hand in killing those children?”

“I didn’t, but-”

“Would you have given the order, had you known the children were present?”

He frowned, “No, I would have waited until he was alone with his guards. But what does it matter? I wasn’t there. I gave the order that resulted in their deaths!”

“It matters because following orders that you know are dubious _is a choice_ . It’s a choice you made. It’s a choice Mornay made. It’s a choice each man who took his blade to one of those children made. So I ask you again,” I leaned forward in my seat, “are you _both_ innocent, or are you _both_ guilty? _Does following orders absolve you, or not?_ ”

“We… are both guilty, Your Worship,” Rainier concluded.

I smiled grimly. “I agree. But there are two complications here.”

The two men looked up at me, Mornay hopeful, Rainier confused.

“First, all the other soldiers who were ‘simply following orders’ from Duke Gaspard and his allies during the recent civil war have been pardoned.”

Rainier frowned, looking up at me. “Civilians were killed, _children_.”

“You’ve walked the Exalted Plains with me, Bl- _Rainier_ . How many houses were left standing? How many civilians were left alive? How many bodies of children did we find? There were people raising mindless corpses with _demons_ for f-” I paused, pressing my lips together, breathing deeply through my nose to regain my composure. I shook my head. “Yet all _those_ murders have been forgiven. No, you are only here because your crime was committed before open battle ensued, and your victims were of noble birth.”

His frown deepened, but he just shook his head, looking down again.

I sighed, waving a hand. “That may all be irrelevant. The Grey Wardens have the right to conscript criminals. You, Thomas Rainier, were claimed by the Grey Wardens _after_ your crimes were committed. By rights, you belong to them, whether they have had the opportunity to Join you properly or not, and I am told that because you had already begun the process of Joining, you no longer have the right to deny them even if you were recruited voluntarily.” I sighed again, “Maker knows they need people now who actually understand the consequences of following dubious orders, so I’m frankly just as glad to return you to them. Now, what shall we do with Mornay?”

“Please, spare him, Your Worship,” Rainier all but begged. Mornay looked like he was going to cry.

“That is the one thing I cannot do. Having found you guilty, Mornay, I can sentence you to death, to prison for however long Her Majesty sees fit to keep you, or you can follow your former captain to the Grey Wardens. If you had a say, what would you choose?”

“The Grey… the Grey Wardens, Your Worship.”

“So be it. Former Captain Rainier, Former Lieutenant Mornay, I sentence you both to Joining the Grey Wardens. Hopefully what you have learned from your mistakes can lend them wisdom as they rebuild from their own recent trials. Until they are ready to receive you, you are on probation as conscripts to the Inquisition. You may not leave Skyhold without direct orders. If you attempt to flee, you will be killed on sight. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” both men answered in military unison. Rainier was frowning. Mornay looked relieved. Josephine noted my conclusion on her writing board and then looked up at me, and mouthed a silent “Thank you.” 

A startled murmur rolled through the crowd like a wave, spiking pointedly wherever a cluster of Orlesian nobility were gathered, gasping. Some were clutching their pearls in shock, others twittering animatedly to their neighbors. It was impossible to discern their expressions through their ubiquitous masks, and their body language mostly conveyed startled excitement. I wasn’t sure whether the overall feel was disapproving - Orlesians act scandalized by everything I do.

No doubt, Josephine would have her work cut out for her cleaning up whatever I’d just stepped in regardless, but this is frankly what we all get when Empress Celene foists unpopular judgments off onto the Inquisition. In retrospect, I’m not sure who did a favor for whom this time, but somehow I’m pretty sure I’m the one who is getting the short stick, regardless. As long as it's me, and not random innocent people, I can deal with that.

_Mental note: order more cocoa._

\-----

“Adamant's influence continues, Your Worship,” Josephine resumed with a sigh. “I submit Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus. We found him alive, offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head... in more _colorful_ terms. To say nothing of justice you might personally require for what was suffered in the fade.”

The rat-faced mage squirmed in his shackles. “I served a living god. Bring down your blades and free me from the physical. Glory awaits me!"

“And yet, any protection you thought you had has apparently been withdrawn. Normally I consider it a waste, but the damage you have done without an ounce of remorse deserves a far worse fate than I can bestow. I therefore sentence you to death.”

"Petty actions. You can not truly destroy me. Truth lies in the next world!"

 _Really?_ I stared at him, my smile grim. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll be sure you die in the next world as well, then.”

“What?!” he shrieked. “You cannot!”

I stood from my throne and stalked deliberately towards him, my left palm facing out, the anchor sparking with spite. I reached out with my right hand to grasp his chin, and force him to look me in the eye. “Can’t I?” I replied quietly.

[“](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075957) [_Sleep well, Erimond._ ” ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075957)

\-----

We - that is, the Iron Bull, Blackwall, Dorian, Varric, Sera, and I - returned to the Western Approach to investigate yet another set of ancient ruins that were occupied by Venatori. I'd have thought after clearing out that time-stopped ruin, occupying Gryphon Wing Keep, and dealing with Erimond, the Venatori would have fled the region, but apparently there was yet more here of interest to them.

Specifically, we found them in an ancient Tevinter prison called _Coracavus_. That's not anything to do with ravens. It means something like "Central Cavern" or even "Heart Cavity". Maybe a bad pun from a culture that practiced a whole lot of blood magic?

We're still not entirely sure what the Venatori were looking for, or what they found, but we did manage to capture the mage they'd assigned to manage the place and send any useful artifacts back to them.

I’m trying to decide if I’m glad Solas didn’t have to see the place, as it was obvious they’d tortured prisoners there over the course of centuries, and I can’t imagine that left a pleasant imprint on the local fade. I still don’t have the knack of getting spirits to replay memories the way he does, but I don’t think I’d be willing to practice it there.

Anyway, while we were in the area, closing rifts, making sure we'd cleared out all the damned Venatori, and being generally useful sorts, we encountered a professor of draconology from the University of Orlais. _Buh?_ Oblivious man is oblivious. Or protected, somehow? The Iron Bull and Varric both found it very suspicious, and I trust their judgement about such things. We’re not sure if he was just paying the local bandits protection money, if the local bandits are actually mercenaries he’s paying to keep others away, or if he was possibly even serving the Venatori somehow.

As part of our effort to figure out what the hell the guy was up to, I got suckered into helping him with his research of the Abyssal High Dragon that was nesting entirely closer to one of our camps than seemed wise, in retrospect. It was just supposed to be a research project, a chance to observe a High Dragon from a relatively close angle. I thought the Iron Bull and Sera would enjoy it as a kind of break, so I took them and Dorian with me. Well, I hope Professor Oblivious got what he needed, because we ended up having to kill the damned thing when it decided it liked us for lunch better than the bait he was having us put out for it.

It's possible he was _trying_ to get us killed.

I hate having to kill the local wildlife. It goes against everything I ever learned as a tree-hugging California hippie-witch, dammit.

For the most part, we did okay. The Iron Bull loves fighting dragons anyway, so he did his usual tank act, holding her attention while Dorian hurled magical attacks, Sera fired arrows, and I kept everyone alive. It went pretty well, I think. I didn't even run out of potions, and the Iron Bull only got knocked down a couple times. Since we took the dragon out not far from one of our encampments, we were able to send scouts back with wagons to harvest as much usable material from the carcass as possible. Making sure the parts don't go to waste is the least I can do to honor her unnecessary death.

On the way back to the Keep, Bull and Sera were both punch drunk, laughing and singing, and being rather less careful than they usually would. To be fair, the area seemed pretty clear - nobody really wants to hang around a dragon’s lair, I guess - and there aren't all that many places to hide. But Sera thought she spotted some bottles on top of an old ruin, and insisted on climbing up, while Bull complained that he was overheated as it was, and was just going to sit down in the shade on the other side of the ruin. When the bandits approached from the far side of the ruins, Bull got up to meet them, and Dorian sighed dramatically, following him for backup. Sera and I stayed around the ruins for cover and ranged attacks.

But then another pair of bandits we hadn't seen came up from behind the ruins to corner me and Sera against the walls. Dorian was entirely focused on protecting the Iron Bull from the bulk of their numbers, now out of our sight. One of the bandits knocked my staff out of my hands, flinging it down into the ravine below, and the other slammed Sera up against the stone walls, knocking her out.

Now, hypothetically, I don't need my staff to cast, but with Sera bleeding profusely from a head wound and two bandits staring me down, I just kind of lost it. I remember snarling and growling, and trying to rip their throats out with my bare hands and teeth.

I also remember _succeeding_ , because apparently I had claws and fangs.

When Dorian and the Iron Bull caught back up with us, they found me standing there with my mouth and hands bloody, my hair a loose mess, growling softly as I healed Sera. Dorian came forward to help with the healing and make sure I was okay. It was the Iron Bull who figured out what I'd really done.

"Easy girl," he said in a calming voice, putting his heavy hands on both my shoulders. I took a deep breath, relieved to realize that we weren't alone anymore. Suddenly I was shaking all over. Bull all but picked me up, pulling me away to let Dorian take over care of Sera. He handed me a kerchief and waterskin to let me wash my face and hands, and encouraged Dorian to walk ahead of us with Sera while he discussed it with me on the way back to the keep.

"What happened, Ember?" the Iron Bull asked me quietly. He didn't call me "Boss", so I knew he was being very serious about it.

"I... I'm not really sure. I remember they had us cornered, and I lost my staff down the ravine. Oh, shit," I started to turn back, "We have to go back for it!"

He stopped me. "We'll send fresh scouts to look for it. Isn't Dagna making you a sword?"

"Yeah, but it was an _ice_ staff..."

"We're leaving here tomorrow."

"We are?" I looked up at him, confused. As far as I knew, we had several weeks left of work to do here in the Approach.

"We are _now_ ," he asserted, gesturing for me to keep walking towards the keep. "So what happened?"

"Right, sorry." I sighed and tried again, still very shaky. "So, they had us cornered and I lost my staff, and I was trying to figure out how to get away. But then they knocked out Sera, and I just... I don't really know. I remember feeling kind of... snarly? I wanted to rip them apart, and... um..." I ducked my head, embarrassed, "...taste their blood? That's really gross, isn't it?"

"I've heard worse. Believe me, I get it," Bull rumbled.

"I suppose you would, yeah. So it felt like my hands were huge and like claws, and my hair was just everywhere. And also... it kind of felt like Lion was there. But I haven't seen Lion at all since I got here, just my cloak."

"The fur cloak you had in the fade, that the little rabbit sat in?"

"Yeah. Some of my spirit allies give me tools to keep. From Lion I have this hooded cloak."

"So you think maybe you were influenced by your lion spirit?" He pursed his lips and grunted in disapproval.

"Indirectly, yeah, it would make sense." I shrugged, looking down. "I mean, I always thought I'd be a Berserker type if I ever let myself be trained to fight much. It's why I avoided it. But I'm clearly not a _bear_ warrior. _Ulfhedhin_ are wolf warriors. What would lion warriors be called?"

That got me a smirk. "You could ask Commander Cullen."

I smiled faintly, too weary to really grin. "That's right, they call him a lion too, don't they?"

"So, how do you feel now?" Bull pointedly pulled me back on topic.

I looked down at myself, holding up my bloody hands to examine their tremor. "I'm still really shaky and nauseous, but I don't think I'm going to throw up." I paused to think about it, searching myself as honestly as I could manage. "Emotionally I'm... well not guilty, exactly. I'd defend any of you if I had to, of course. But I’m… disgusted? I don't know if I'm ashamed of my actions or if I just find the memory of the sensory experience disgusting. Solas said I might be able to shapeshift in the physical world like I can in the fade. I was sort of hoping it would be the wings, you know?" I finished, pulling myself up with humor, as always.

Bull chuckled, "Well, maybe you can still figure out the wings, now. Might be useful."

"Might still be injured, I don't know. My wing got clipped last time, and I haven't tried to pull them out since."

"Do injuries to spirit parts stick like that?" he asked, surprisingly curious about the weird shit.

"The way I'm used to, spirit injuries can happen totally separately, and have to be healed separately if they stick."

"Weird."

"Well, _yes_.” I heaved a loud sigh. “So, what do you think I should do, Bull?"

His expression turned very serious. "You should be careful. Shapeshifters aren't common, and the few I've heard stories about turn entirely into an animal when they shift, unless they’re cursed. If you just take on a few beastly traits, even temporarily, people are likely to think you're an abomination."

"Lion isn't a demon, and he’s not even actually _here_."

He growled. "Nobody is going to care if they see you go weird on them, Boss. If I hadn’t been there for Adamant, I probably wouldn’t buy it either, even from you."

"Point. Ugh, another secret to keep. I hate this!"

He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and squeezed. I winced as his huge fingers gripped a deep bruise. "Ow."

"Sorry, Boss."

"I’ll live. Thanks Bull."

We dragged ourselves into the keep. The Iron Bull prevented anyone from trying to talk to me until I'd had a chance to wash up, change clothing, and breathe for a while.

When I emerged, I found Varric waiting for me.

"Buttercup’s all healed and ready to hit things again. How are you holding up, Pipes?" the dwarf asked me with relaxed concern.

I scrunched my nose. "I've been better. If anyone ever offers you a glass of blood to drink, turn it down."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, deadpan. "Tiny said if I wanted to know why you came in soaked in blood, I'd have to ask you myself. Want to talk about it?"

"It can't go in your stories, Varric. At least, not for a long time."

"I can work with that."

"I think... I _might_ have shapeshifted into a were-lion." I gave him a wincing smile.

Varric just stood there, blinking, his expression unchanged. "Well, that's... new."

"Not entirely, but it's never been like _that_ before. I'm not sure how to do it on purpose. Or how to prevent it from happening again.” I frowned. “Bull said people might think I'm an abomination."

"He's probably right,” Varric agreed seriously. “So what _did_ happen?"

"You remember how I had a fur cloak in the fade with a lion's head for the hood?"

"Yeah."

"That cloak is a gift from one of my spirit guardians. I think maybe I put it all the way on, today, and it affected my form in the physical realm." 

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that a thing?"

"I don't know if it's a thing _here_ , but there's stories about things like it where I come from. We don't take them literally, though. Wearing my lion cloak at home doesn't result in my growing fangs and claws or anything."

"I can see why Bull said we're going back to Skyhold immediately."

"Yeah." I looked at the floor.

Varric sighed, "Well, I'm just glad you're okay. We were pretty worried when you came in like that.” Then he gave me a wry smile. “You'd think after all these years with Hawke, I'd learn, but it seems I'm destined to hover near crazy redheaded women bent on finding new and exciting ways to dye their clothing in blood."

"You and Bull and your thing for redheads," I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, my thing isn't like Bull's thing," Varric protested.

"Well, no, his is probably a lot bigger," I agreed straight-faced.

Varric busted up laughing. "I've never had any complaints," he assured me.

"I bet Bull has!" I grinned, holding up my arm suggestively.

"You're terrible, Pipes. Rivaini is going to love you."

"When does she arrive?"

"A couple of months maybe. Now that the Wardens are settled, Sunshine needs to get back. But Hawke is eager to introduce you to Blondie."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I, Pipes,” he agreed, “so am I."

\-----

Okay, now Sera is avoiding me. I’ve tried repeatedly to catch up with her to see how she’s doing, and she keeps finding ways to be busy or out of reach.

Was she not as unconscious as I’d believed? Fuck. What did she see? How can I ask her?

Dammit… Now what do I do?

\-----

The day after we got back to Skyhold, I sat on the table in the spooky library, while Morrigan sat calmly in a huge armchair, and Solas paced slowly with his hands clasped behind his back. I stared at my hands as I explained what had happened, feeling uncomfortably like having to face my parents after screwing up.

“Sooooo, yeah, that’s... pretty much it.” I exhaled and looked up, finally. “How do I control it?”

“‘Tis most unusual, Inquisitor,” Morrigan replied. “I have had to study each creature closely for some time before I could take their form. To do so entirely by accident, and for an animal you have never even seen? And you’re certain it was not possession?”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t possession. And I’ve seen lions. I mean, in captivity, but I’ve seen them, and studied them.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “Where have you encountered captive lions, Inquisitor?”

“Back home,” I waved a hand, “That’s not important right now. I have a handful of forms that I am practiced with in the spirit realm, but I didn’t expect them to ever manifest _physically_. Now that it’s clear they can, I need to know how to control it.”

Solas spoke up, “It should not be significantly different from how you accomplish it in the fade, beyond the additional step of pulling the form from the fade into the physical realm, as you do with other spells.”

Morrigan scoffed, “‘Tis not so simple. To take the shape of another creature, you must entirely understand that creature’s nature and form.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained impassive. “If she intends to transform completely into another kind of creature, yes. If, however, the form is her own, and simply a different shape than the one she current holds, I believe her existing experience with them in the fade is sufficient.”

I held up a hand, before they could argue too much further. “Okay, granted that I need a strong, well-grounded sense of the form I plan to take, _how_ do I take it?”

Morrigan frowned at Solas and then looked back to me, and sighed. “He has the right of it, there. You must visualize the form you wish to embody as completely as possible, and allow that form to replace your sense of the shape of your own body. Then, when you have the feel of that intent firmly in place, pull that form from the fade, through your body, until you can feel your body now matches the form you have envisioned.” She turned back to Solas, “But I still must object. If she attempts this spell without a sufficient understanding of the form she is attempting to take, she could easily harm herself, leaving out some essential aspect of the form!”

“That should not be an issue in this case,” he insisted.

“I do not see how you can be so certain of this, old man,” she pressed.

“I can,” I replied, firmly, again calling a halt to their bickering. I wish I knew why they got along so poorly. They have a lot of the same interests, I would expect them to appreciate each other’s enthusiasm, but I guess they’re too busy wrangling for dominance or something.

“Explain,” Morrigan demanded, flatly.

“I’m not going to be changing the core form of my body very much. My internal organs don’t need to shift at all in most cases, just some of my muscles and bone structure at my extremities. Claws, tail, face, maybe wings, or antlers at other times. And, as he’s said, they’re all forms I’ve taken repeatedly in the fade.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You wish to take only a partially-changed form? That is… not something I know how to do, although the werewolves of the Brecilian Forest prove it is possible, I suppose.”

I nodded. “Hence ‘were-lion’.”

She nodded slowly, her brow furrowed, contemplating my suggestion. Solas met my eyes, smiling slightly, as if to reassure me, and then glancing sideways at Morrigan with a tiny smirk. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, and he just huffed and shook his head, returning to his silent pacing.

Morrigan stood up suddenly, shaking her head. “This is foolish, Inquisitor. A partially-changed form serves no purpose. You will seem an abomination to any who look, drawing the fear and disapproval of your allies, and the wrath of your enemies, both. Even in melee, I see little point that is not served by a suitable animal form.”

“I’m not planning to use them much, I just want to have control over it, and these are the forms I have. Obviously I _can_ do it, because I already have! So, how do I make sure I only do it on purpose?”

“Beyond the same control that prevents any accidental magic, I am not certain what to tell you, Inquisitor. I have never in my life shapeshifted accidentally. If you wish to learn how to transform into another shape entirely, as it is clear you have the talent for it, I will teach you what I do. But I cannot teach you what I do not know.”

“I believe I can help, Inquisitor,” Solas interjected, quietly. “I have seen what you can do in the fade, and I believe I can help you translate it into a practical effect. We will need more space than this, and equal privacy.”

I nodded, “I will arrange something, thank you, Solas. And thank you, Morrigan, I appreciate your insight. If it seems like your method will be useful for my needs, I will definitely follow up with you on your offer.”

She nodded, her expression skeptical as she looked at Solas again before leaving the room.

As the door clicked shut again, I let out a sudden sigh, my shoulders slumping. I hadn’t realized how tense I was!

“Are you alright, _vhenan_?” Solas asked, gently.

I winced, meeting his gaze, barely noticing the new endearment. “Honestly? Not really. I can still taste the blood running down the back of my throat when I’m not focused on something else. I feel like such a freak.” I shuddered, flinching reflexively as he reached for my face, only to sigh and lean into his touch.

“Your talents are unusual in this world, but that is to be expected. Magic and the fade are both shaped considerably by the consciousness of the mage. What is considered possible or impossible is bounded far more by common belief than any limitation of the fade itself.” He smiled. “Your perspective is unique, and thus, naturally, so is your magic.”

I huffed, suppressing a sob and laughter both. “Unique. Another word for ‘doesn’t belong anywhere’.”

His smile grew pained, with obvious sympathy. “The unique are, indeed, often alone.”

I met his gaze, startled. “Oh, Solas, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to say _you’re_ a freak.”

He leaned in until our foreheads were touching, expression still pained, but obviously also amused. “Perhaps we can be unique together, _ma vhenan._ ”

That time I noticed the endearment. Making a mental note to ask for translation later, I tilted my head to kiss him, still feeling a little desperate. I couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom that had settled in after I came to in the Western Approach.

_I have a bad feeling about this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, do I suck at chapter titles and summaries, or are they the pleasantly enigmatic that I'm aiming for? A lot of my chapters are effectively two or three separate topics shoved together for length, because, well, journal entries. I try to find some word or phrase that refers logically to all of them somehow, but for all I know, the result is just ridiculous outside my head.
> 
> Argh!
> 
> I have only one more delineated chapter prepared, and then I hit the (still quite extensive) unfinished material. Keep your fingers crossed that I sort out chapter 33 in a timely fashion, but don't hold your breath, you might turn purple! XD
> 
> -E-


	32. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Cole need help. Cullen needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, gratitude to my beta readers, UncleDark and Cowoline. Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated! <3 <3 <3

I wasn't getting any better at chess. I wasn't surprised, honestly, but some part of me always hoped that if I actually kept at it, I'd get past whatever twist of brain kept me from understanding the deeper strategies involved. 

"Honestly, Cullen, I think I'm just terrible at memorizing board states," I complained, laughing.

He nodded, far more seriously than I expected. "You play the same as you always have."

"Sorry," I blushed, smiling sheepishly. "I can't imagine I offer much challenge. If you'd rather play a game I'm good at, I can teach you  _ Gomoku _ ."

He looked up sharply. "What is ' _ gomoku _ '? You’ve never mentioned it before. Is it a game for mages?"

I tilted my head, furrowing my eyebrows. "Uh, no. The only game I know for mages is  _ Tarot Fish _ , and you don’t have the cards for that. Oh, wait,  _ Quiddich _ ! But that would require everyone to fly, so no.”

Cullen stared at me pointedly, and I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “Sorry! No, anyone can play  _ Gomoku _ . It’s a kids' game, honestly. All the pieces are the same shape, one color for each player. You play on a larger, narrower grid than this, and try to get five stones in a row before your opponent does. I bet there are even hex variants for more players or something, like…”  _ Not Chinese… _ “Eastern Checkers."

Cullen just shook his head and looked back at the board. His lips were moving slightly, but I couldn't hear anything. I hadn't been worried, thinking it was just him going over whether to move his queen or his knight, but now I realized he was agitated. He kept looking at me throughout the game, his eyes narrow, like he was examining me or something. Or staring off into space in my direction, maybe. 

"Cullen, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" He looked up, eyes wide, and finally smiled slightly, though it looked strained. "Nothing is wrong, Inquisitor. I just have a lot of paperwork waiting for me when we're done here. But I'm grateful for the break,  really."

I frowned, and then jerked backwards in my seat as Cole appeared suddenly. He had dark circles around his bloodshot eyes, and his skin was even paler than usual - almost blue.

"Sorry!" he said immediately when he saw me press my hand to my chest. "I tried to do it right, but I rushed, didn't I?  _ Heart racing, nerves tingling, I'm startled, not hurt. Just try not to sneak up on me. _ I will try harder next time, Ember!"

"Fair enough, Cole," I gave him a relieved half-smile, only to frown in concern. "What's up?

"You are needed in the war room," he told me, and then, to Cullen, as we both stood up, "Not you. You need..."

"I'm fine, Cole!" Cullen interrupted, abruptly, holding up a hand to forestall the spirit boy's empathy assault.

I looked between the two of them, still slightly bewildered, and then nodded to them both, and headed to the war room.

\-----

Since there weren't any meetings, I wasn't sure what I would find in the war room. Sure enough, the room was all but empty. Cassandra stood over the map growling and muttering under her breath. Her shoulders were tense as she leaned over the table on her fists.

I made a point of scuffing my feet on the floor before quietly asking, "What's wrong?"

She glanced at me before returning her focus to the map. "You recall the envy demon? The one impersonating Lord Seeker Lucius?"

"I'm not likely to forget," I deadpanned.

She snorted, nodding. "We never found the real Lord Seeker - or his body. Indeed, I've seen no hint of any Seekers amongst the Red Templars, or anywhere." She banged her fist on the map in frustration, and then turned to face me, crossing her arms and leaning against the sturdy table. "I've a growing suspicion Corypheus has imprisoned them."

"Are you sure? He usually just kills anyone who gets in his way."

"They may be dead, it's true. Yet a demon of envy does not kill whomever it replaces: it hides them away and learns about them."

"Huh, okay." I moved over to the table to look across the map of Fereldan. "If he's holding them somewhere, he must have a use for them, then, right? Like the Red Templars? Weren't they holing up in Therinfal Redoubt?"

Cassandra shook her head. "Leliana's agents found no evidence that any real Seekers were ever there. Seekers do not use lyrium. I assume Corypheus gained control of the Templars by corrupting the lyrium they were already taking."

"That's what Barris said, yeah."

"To do the same to a Seeker, you'd have to force the lyrium upon them. That may be what happened, but it couldn't have begun that way." She turned around to face the map again, regarding me earnestly. "We're missing a piece of the puzzle, Inquisitor. I need to find it."

I nodded. "Of course. What do you want to do?"

Her head dropped as she leaned on the table. I wasn't sure if it was relief or grief. "I left the order, but I can never abandon them," she replied, finally, looking up at the windows with a pained expression. "I cannot even claim that rescuing them would be beneficial - they wouldn't look kindly on the Inquisition. But even so, if there's a chance..." She turned to meet my eyes again. "If we can spare resources to follow up on these leads, Inquisitor, I would appreciate it."

I gave her a wry smile. "Oh, I'm sure we can. If nothing else, letting Corypheus continue to have access to the Seekers can't be good for us. Even if they don't join, we need to make sure they aren't forced to work against us, right?"

"True," she smiled slightly, though her eyes looked more relieved than happy. "I was hoping you would agree. Leliana felt certain you would. Her leads point to Caer Oswin." She pointed to a hilltop in eastern Ferelden. "Odd that the trail should lead there. Bann Loren is such a pious, unassuming man. I am concerned that he has become involved in something sinister."

I tilted my head, looking at the map. "Are we sure he's even still there? Alexius booted Arl Teagan."

"I am not certain of anything," she admitted on a sigh. "I must go there as soon as possible."

I looked up, “Of course. Do you need my team, too?”

She wrinkled her nose. "I would rather not take the Iron Bull, or Varric, no. But… I would welcome your help, yes.”

“Of course,” I nodded.

“Thank you, Inquisitor." She finally smiled.

"It’s fine," I assured her, holding my arms out.

Her smile widened slightly as she stepped towards me.

\-----

As we left the war room, Solas was walking towards us. His face lit up when he spotted us.

“Inquisitor! I was hoping you might have lunch with me, to go over my notes on the Elvhen inscriptions we found.”

I grinned, “Of course, Solas, I’d love to.” I turned to Cassandra to bid her farewell, and found her failing to suppress a smile as she looked from me to Solas.

“Solas, I was just discussing a mission with the Inquisitor. I’m sure she’ll want you to join us when we go.”

He nodded. I raised my eyebrows as she turned back to me. “Enjoy your lunch,” she said before walking away, carefully closing the door to Josephine’s office behind her.

Solas smiled at me impishly, his hands tucked behind his back.

“Notes on those veilfire runes, huh?” I raised an eyebrow.

“No doubt you will find them fascinating. I expect they will take us at least two hours to go over in the necessary detail,” he nodded with mock solemnity.

I grinned again, shaking slightly with silent laughter, and leaned in to give him a simple kiss. He brought his arms to my waist, pulling me in, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, sighing happily.

\-----

When we went to pick up the notes on the way to the kitchen, we found Cole waiting in the rotunda to talk to Solas. He looked a wreck, pacing twitchily. Without his hat, his listless blond hair was even messier.

“What’s wrong, Cole?” I asked, concerned. Solas nodded to him encouragingly.

The young man turned to us, crossing his arms to hold his shoulders, as though he was cold, or frightened. “That man. He likes hurting people. He likes hurting people  _ like me _ . _ Bleeding, burning, blinding, binding. Pulled against purpose, Compassion turns cruel.  _ I don’t want to be a demon again! You can’t let them take me. You have to bind me!”

“Oh, Cole, no!” I objected.

“Absolutely not!” Solas declared stiffly, obviously deeply offended by Cole’s suggestion.

“But you  _ like _ demons!” Cole wailed to Solas.

“I enjoy the company of  _ spirits _ , yes. Which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings!”

“It isn’t abuse if I  _ ask _ ,” he objected. I winced.

“Not always true,” Solas replied, clearly agitated. “Also, we do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic!”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to take up the ethical argument they’d presented. I was pretty sure I could find a way to sort out a set of orders that would essentially leave a spirit bound to their own devices. I’d been contemplating something similar to help the Tranquil in our ranks. But was that actually what Cole needed? And was I willing to risk blood magic to accomplish it?

Regardless, arguing wasn’t helping.

“Cole, honey, there’s got to be a better way to handle this,” I replied placatingly.

“If you won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could - will! And then I’m not  _ me _ anymore.  _ Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster… _ ”

I walked up to the boy, putting my hands on his shoulders to pull his attention back into the present moment. I offered him calming energy, but he rejected it to walk jerkily out the door.

“There  _ is _ another way,” Solas informed me quietly. “Rivaini Seers have ways of protecting their companion spirits when they call them out of the fade. If we can acquire an Amulet of the Unbound for Cole, he should be immune to binding and blood magic.”

“That sounds like a good place to start. Hell, I’d want to get one just to study how immunity to blood magic might be conveyed in general. Can you go see if you can calm him down, while I talk to Josephine about acquiring one?”

He nodded, and moved to follow after the spirit.

\-----

Caer Oswin was up a hill, of course. That does make sense, hills give a great view, and are easier to defend. But it does mean every keep we have to break into is literally an uphill climb. Ahh, well.

Cassandra was at least conversational with me and Solas while we rode East with her team of Vivienne, Loranil, and Vale. The latter had stepped up when Blackwall stopped being a suitable option for public-facing operations, having done what   could to organize the refugees in the Hinterlands, and recruit some of the more able among them.

As Caer Oswin came into view from the valley below, Cassandra became increasingly tense, and was nearly silent as we climbed the path. We met very little resistance on the way up, though there had been a small rift with some wisps and minor demons in the valley.

Lacking a clear reason for breaking in, we tried knocking. Shockingly enough, someone did answer the door, and started to let us in when he saw Cassandra’s Seeker uniform, but then he spotted me and Vivienne immediately behind her and tried to close the door again. Cassandra slammed the door back open into his face, knocking him down. 

He shouted for help before Vivienne could put him to sleep, unfortunately. Cassandra gestured for us to spread out slightly, and moved to hide directly behind the inner door to the gatehouse, with Loranil matching her move on the other side. When a handful of armed men came streaming in, they found themselves quickly flanked. Even if we hadn’t outnumbered them, it would have been a trivial fight.

Cassandra bent down to examine their clothing, and snorted with disgust. “Promisers. I should have known.”

“‘Promisers’?” I asked.

She sighed. “The Order of Firey Promise is a cult that stalks the Seekers of Truth. They believe  _ they _ are the rightful Seekers, and we robbed their powers long ago, preventing them from ending the world.”

“Why is there always some group of people convinced that everything will be better if the world they have is destroyed?” I winced, putting a hand to my forehead in irritation, drawing a concerned look from Solas. “That trick  _ never _ works.”

“You’ve encountered similar groups, Inquisitor?” Vivienne asked.

“Not directly, but they’re disturbingly common throughout history pretty much everywhere, as far as I can tell. Inevitably they believe that everyone they hate will be purged from existence, and only the people they like will remain, along with an earthly paradise that lacks anything that makes them uncomfortable in the real world. It’s…” I shook my head again, frustrated. “Infuriating.”

Solas was still holding my gaze, frowning. I shook my head, waving a hand to reassure him that I didn’t actually have a headache, as we moved through the door to what turned out to be the jails.

Each cell held several prisoners, all dead, dressed only in rags. We passed through to stone hallways to find more bodies, to finally find one dressed in Seeker’s robes, bloodied and bruised, as if killed not by a great blow, but a thousand tiny cuts.

“This was not combat, but torture,” Solas observed.

Cassandra growled low in her throat, drawing a startled look from Loranil, who had been watching her with concern and no small amount of admiration.

“I’d expect no better from Promisers, but what does it have to do with Corypheus?” she snarled.

“It’s in his best interests for the Seekers to fail, right?” Vale suggested.

“It is in no-one’s interest for the Promisers to succeed,” Cassandra replied.

\----

The Promisers proved nearly incompetent at securing the keep. Whatever they’d done to Bann Loren to gain access couldn’t have involved much strategy or manpower. How they’d defeated the dozens of corpses we found as we moved through stone walls to find the courtyard was unclear.

Given the letter we found on one of their more competent archers, maybe they didn’t do it themselves.

Vivienne silently handed the parchment to Cassandra, who read the note aloud. " _ As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim your destiny, and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment. _ Signed by Lord Samson, Commander of the Red Templars. This is insane!”

“Sanity is not one of Corypheus’ strong points,” I replied. “Wait, Seekers are resistant to red lyrium?”

Cassandra shook her head, “Our abilities grant us many gifts, but a resistance to red lyrium's corruption? That seems strange.”

Vivienne pursed her lips. “It would explain why none were among the Red Templars. No leash to hold them.”

“I suppose. But it doesn’t explain  _ how _ he captured them, or what’s been done with them since. I have only recognized one of the bodies we’ve found so far.”

Vale and Loranil exchanged a rueful look behind her back, Vale shaking his head. We all knew it was increasingly unlikely that any Seeker that had been captured was still alive.

_ Unless… _ my eyes grew wide. “What if they have more envy demons?”

Vivienne gave me a quelling look. “Don’t borrow trouble, my dear. Envy demons are extremely rare.”

I looked to Solas, who nodded in agreement. “It is a sufficiently complex emotion, few spirits strong enough to understand it would find it compelling. Perhaps because it is a particularly  _ unsatisfying _ form of desire.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Envy demons would not keep to the shadows once they had gained an identity. If my brethren were being replaced, we’d have seen their impostors in the ranks of Red Templars.”

“Right, okay, never-mind then.” I sighed at my last hope that there was a reason for them to be kept alive. “Let’s keep looking.”

\-----

Maybe I shouldn’t have hoped we’d find living Seekers, given what we did find. Cassandra’s former apprentice, a young man named Daniel, curled on the stone floor in agony, twisting and turning as something they’d forced inside of him consumed him from the inside out.

“You can't be possessed, that's impossible!” Cassandra cried.

“I'm not possessed. They fed me... things. I can feel it growing.”

“Can we help him?” I turned to Solas and Vivienne, but they just shook their heads.

Solas examined him, and sighed. “It’s destroying him physically, Inquisitor. Even if we can remove it from his body without harming him further, we can not replace what it has consumed. Healing his wounds would not be enough. The only reason he is still alive to suffer is the magic of the creature feeding on him.”

Daniel clutched Cassandra’s arm urgently. “The Lord Seeker… you have to find him. He betrayed us, Cassandra. He sent us here, one by one, to die.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the envy demon?” I asked.

“No,” he gasped, “The demon... came later. The Lord Seeker... allowed it. He… he let…”

“Hush, Daniel, we understand,” Cassandra assured him, her voice tender.

“Don't leave me like this. Please…” he whimpered, grasping her arm with both hands desperately, before curling in on himself again with a groan.

“Go to the Maker's side, Daniel. You will be welcome.” Cassandra stood up, eyes glassy with tears, drew her sword, and ran him through. His own sigh of relief was followed by a strange whining gurgle from the center of his body, before he collapsed completely in a pool of blackened blood.

\-----

We found Lord Seeker Lucius in the gardens above the keep.  He greeted us with startling civility. “I presume you know the Seekers of Truth were the original Inquisition. We sought to remake the world - to make it better. But we merely created a decaying world, and fought to preserve it even as it crumbled. We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra. We had to be stopped.” 

Naturally, Cassandra balked at that, but he just carried blithely on with his calm rant like a villain played by Jeremy Irons. It was all the more eerie for his lack of passion. What had happened to this man? Now that he was in front of me, the difference between him and the envy demon was palpable - Envy felt like a distortion, like it didn’t quite understand how to be a person, that whatever it was on its own wasn’t quite enough. This man was clearly a person, but he felt  _ hollow _ , like something had reached into his chest, pulled out his heart, and crushed it before his eyes. Not like the dispassionate disconnect of the Tranquil. More like depression. The apathy of a man who has passed through despair into acceptance that everything that matters is just… gone.

“You don't believe me? See for yourself.” He held out a leather-bound tome to her. “The secrets of our order, passed to me after the former Lord Seeker was slain. The war with the mages had already begun, but it was not too late for me to do the right thing.”

“How was this was  _ ‘the right thing’ _ ? Do you have any idea what you’ve done, what you allowed to be done with your face?” Cassandra cried.

“What Corypheus did with the Templars does not matter. I have seen the future. The world will end so we can start anew.” Something flickered in his eyes, finally. Not hope, but something ominous, zealous. “Join us Cassandra! It is the Maker's will!”

Cassandra simply drew her sword and attacked him. He didn’t even defend himself, he just laughed as she slashed at him with all the pent-up fury of months spent worrying sick. Finally, with an enraged cry, she ran him through. I barely had time to move, but none of us even tried, really. It wasn’t our place to do more than witness.

“We are… abominations,” Lucius muttered with his last breath. “It is... the Maker’s will.”

Cassandra knelt down to close his eyes and pick up the book he had offered before she attacked. I put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her up.

“Let’s go, Cassandra. There’s nothing for us here.”

\-----

To my surprise, when we returned to Skyhold, we found the Amulet of the Unbound had arrived  by raven courier while we were gone. I brought it to Solas, and we went to find Cole. He was, of course, very excited, and wanted to put it on immediately. But first he needed us to find someplace he could easily avoid later if it went poorly for him. 

So we moved to an empty hall beneath the main hall. But when Solas went to activate the pendant, it sparked and fizzled. Cole shouted in pain when the sparks struck his skin, prompting Varric to come running down the stairs to find out what was wrong with him.

“What are you doing to the Kid?” he demanded.

“Stopping blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant! But it didn’t work,” Cole explained.

“Something is interfering with the enchantment,” Solas explained.

“Something like Cole  _ not being a demon _ ?” Varric retorted.

“The amulet shouldn’t distinguish between demons and spirits, should it?” I asked. “The Rivaini Seers don’t categorize fade entities according to Andrastian theology.”

“Which begs the question, is Cole still a fade entity at all?” Varric asked.

“Is that subject to change?” I replied, eyebrows furrowed.

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a spirit,” Solas insisted.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Varric replied, “A spirit who is strangely like a person.”

“That’s not strange,” I replied absently, still pondering the problem. Maybe Adele could help?

“ _ I _ don’t matter!” Cole objected. “Just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow!”

I put up my hands. “Slow down, Cole! You absolutely  _ do _ matter, and you’re not in danger  _ here _ . We’ll figure this out.”

“Cole, focus on the amulet,” Solas instructed. “Tell me what you  _ feel _ .”

Cole closed his eyes, meditating on the amulet’s pull, muttering to himself. Finally he pointed towards Ferelden.

\-----

Solas, Varric, Bull and I followed Cole's dowsing to Recliffe. Cole led us past the tavern to a statue of a dragon. A middle-aged man sat on a bench, shivering despite the mild weather. He was dressed head-to-toe in brown leathers and muttering to himself about the Chantry and mages and lyrium. He looked up as we approached, his eyes hopeful, and then frowned as he saw who we were - or perhaps, who we weren't.

"You!" Cole shouted as soon as their eyes met! "You killed me!"

Cole was at his side in the blink of an eye, holding the man's head, as the man knelt on the ground, groveling for mercy.

"Cole!" I shouted, "wait!"

Solas fade-stepped to the two of them, reminding me that I could do the same. Varric and Bull caught up with us a moment later, as we were carefully pulling him away from the abandoned Templar.

"I don't even know who you are!" the man protested.

"You forgot. You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!"

"Cole, what's going on?" I asked gently, but the boy was too agitated to look at me. He just stared at the man, who took the opportunity to get up and run towards the lake.

"He killed me! He killed, and I have to kill him back!"

Varric and I both looked at Solas quizzically. Bull kept a watchful eye on Cole.

"Cole," I asked carefully, searching for his eyes. " _ Who _ died?"

His eyes were distant, as they always were when he remembered somebody else's pains. "An apostate. A boy. They threw him into the dungeon. He starved to death." He finally met my eyes. "I came through to help, and I... couldn't. So I became him. Cole." He walked towards the man, pulled like a magnet to the pains that linked them.

I frowned, looking to the others.

"Let me kill him," Cole begged us, as he stared at the broken Templar.

"Slow down, kid," Bull replied, gently. "Hitting doesn't fix everything."

"The death of the real Cole wounded him,” Solas insisted, “perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.”

I shrugged, thoughtfully. Bull looked skeptical.

Varric scoffed outright. "You don't just forgive somebody killing you, Chuckles. He's angry, he needs to work through it."

Solas objected with surprising indignance. "A spirit does not  _ work through _ emotions, it embodies them!"

I looked between the two of them, confused. "What's the difference?" I asked.

Solas and Varric both looked at me like I'd grown another head.

Bull grinned, still watching Cole. "Emotions _ are _ . Bodies  _ are _ . Working through emotions requires embodying them, letting them rise and fall away, like the tide, until only you remain.  _ There is nothing to struggle against. _ "

I followed Bull's gaze to our spirit boy. "Solas, are you sure he's  _ missing _ parts? It kind of seems like he's actually picked up extra parts, becoming the boy he couldn't save. Like possession, but in reverse?"

"Regardless, he has lost sight of his purpose."

"He wants to be a person, Chuckles. I think we should let him," Varric objected.

I frowned, finally looking directly at Varric. "Spirits _ are _ people, Varric."

I walked over to Cole, and put my hands on his shoulders again, to stop his agitated pacing. "Cole," I said gently, "Look at me."

" _ Broken body, bloody, bound, _ " he muttered, before his eyes focused on mine.

"Cole, who are you? We know who the boy named Cole was. We know how you took on his name, his face. We know what purpose drew you to him. Who are you now?"

" _ I _ don't matter," he whimpered. " _ Cole _ matters. I need to kill him, for Cole."

"Yes, you  _ do _ matter. You matter very much. The boy Cole is gone. He doesn't need anything anymore.  _ You _ matter now. Who are  _ you _ ?"

"You know me. You remember me." He turned to move toward the Templar. "He forgot me! He forgot me and I died!"

" _ No, _ " I pulled him back, firmly. "He never knew  _ you _ . He forgot the boy Cole.  _ That wasn't you. _ I remember you. Solas remembers you. Varric remembers you. Bull remembers you. You have other friends who remember you too, don't you?"

"Yes... Evangeline and Rhys? But there's someone else..."

" _ Yes. _ Who else remembers you?"

"I... I remember me?"

"Yes! Who are you?" I repeated, pushing gently, but firmly, for him to return to center.

His gaze turned inward again. "I am... Cole? No,  _ 'Cole' I am called, cold, calling, comforting, commemorating.  _ I am Compassion. But not only...  _ compassion is what I do, what I need, helping, healing. What am I? _ I am...? I am... I  _ am _ !” He looked at me, eyes lit up with joy. “ _ I _ am!"

I grinned back. "Yes! So, now what do you need to do?"

"I need to help. People who hurt. People in pain. People like Cole."

"The boy Cole is no longer in pain," I reminded him.

"No, but his pain is remembered. I remember...  _ he _ remembers... he  _ remembers _ !” Cole looked up at me, excited. “He hurts still, because he hurt Cole. I can make his pain go, make him forget, let Cole go!" He started to turn again, but I didn’t release him.

"Is that what  _ you _ need to do?" I tilted my head, raising my eyebrows.

He looked puzzled, and stopped, looking inward again. "Yes. No? I don't know. I want to kill him because he killed Cole, but that's not helping, is it? But making him forget... he'll feel better, he'll let Cole go, but... that's not helping, either, is it? Forgetting when you  _ couldn't  _ have made it better heals the hurt. But forgetting what you've done wrong repeats the wrong… He won't learn if he forgets. End the pain too soon hurts what might have healed... He won't have a chance to get better if I end it now."

I nodded, smiling again. "Okay. So what do you need to do, then?"

"I need to help him... learn?"

"How can you do that?"

"I can help him... I can help him  _ remember _ .  _ Lyrium looses, liquid longing for relief, blue to bind the break. Memories muddied, fragmented, fractured. _ He has lost so much of himself, it hurts him to not be whole, so he takes more lyrium, but lyrium is why he has holes. I can restore his memories!"

"You can  _ offer _ ,” I agreed, then frowned in thought. “That's probably going to be painful for him. Are you going to be okay feeling all that, if he accepts?"

"I think so. I hope so?  _ Hurt, not harm. Sorrow and serenity, pleasure and pain. _ He can't learn if he isn't himself. He  _ should _ accept."

"Then go offer. But if he chooses to say no, Cole, helping also means letting him accept the consequences of his choices, okay?"

Cole nodded, eager to move now that he was certain of his path. I gestured towards the cowering former-Templar, letting Cole go to make his offer. The others came up behind me, as I watched.

Solas stood behind me, watching Cole over my shoulder. “What was it you said?  _ ‘Compassion without Wisdom is foolish’ _ ? It is a rare spirit indeed which can embody two concepts in balance without losing itself.”

“He was already losing himself to something far more complex than a concept. I’m hoping having a clearer sense of self as a  _ person _ will make him strong enough to resist compulsion or at least clear enough to receive the amulet. He doesn’t have to become human to know himself.”

He huffed, and I realized he was close enough for his breath to stir the wisps of hair that had escaped my bun. “You do not fear twisting him against his nature?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “I fear that with everyone, Solas.”

\-----

Cassandra asked me to have dinner with her privately today. We sat down in the loft above the forge after they shut down for the evening. She brought out the tome of the Seekers of Truth, and set it between us with a contemplative stare. I waited quietly.

Finally, she spoke. “You have heard of the Rite of Tranquility. You’ve seen what it does.”

“Yeah,” I replied, cautiously.

“You know it can be reversed?”

I nodded. “The discovery of how to reverse it is what led to the mage uprising, right?”

“It was. The shock of its discovery in addition to what happened in Kirkwall. But,” she paused, pursing her lips, and then huffed. “It appears we've  _ always _ known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.”

I raised my eyebrows, eyes wide.

She shifted in her seat, and continued. “I told you of my vigil, the months I spent emptying myself of all emotion? I was made Tranquil, and didn’t even know. Then the vigil summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That broke Tranquility -- and gave me my abilities.”

I bit my lip, thinking. “ _ That’s _ what he meant when he said you were abominations, then? That each Seeker has a spirit of faith guarding them?”

She frowned, going very still, her gaze turned inward. Of course she would be bothered by that. “Perhaps. If so, I have not noticed it since. They did not share the knowledge with anyone. Not the Seekers, not the Chantry, not even...” She stood up suddenly to walk to the window.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Well, it would explain why you can’t be possessed. I hadn’t thought to check. You aren’t directly possessed, at least, we know that much from the work with Davin. Do you want me to check you for companion spirits?”

“Eventually, yes. I need to know. But…” she looked down, and then turned around to look at me. “Not today. I need time.”

I nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, of course.”

She sighed heavily. “The next Divine will choose her own Right Hand. I had thought to rebuild the Seekers when all this was over. After what I have read in this book, I’m not sure the Order deserves to be rebuilt.”

“There’s a saying where I come from,  _ ‘Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the ancients. Seek what they sought.’ _ If you rebuild the Seekers, you should look at why they were created in the first place, not what they became in the end.”

She scowled. “What’s to prevent us from following the same path again? Are we doomed to repeat history?”

“Not if we study it, take measures to go a different way. You’ll make mistakes, I’m sure, but at least they’ll be new ones, right?”

She snorted, dissatisfied, and sat down again to resume her meal.

I frowned, thinking. “If Seekers are guarded by spirits of faith, what happened to Lucius? He’d clearly lost his faith, but not just… I mean, he kind of went crazy in the other direction, like his faith wasn’t just faltering, but inverted. Did his disillusionment corrupt the spirit guarding him?”

Cassandra looked up at me, sharply, and then looked to the side. Her lips opened to speak, but no words emerged at first. She closed her mouth and huffed, and looked up at me again. “That is possible. We should not jump to conclusions. If you are right, I will amend the book. I would also like to add the techniques for detecting possession we’ve developed.”

“Of course. They will need it if you build the Order back up.”

“Whether I do or not, I would like to track down any remaining Seekers. They need to know.”

I nodded. “They’d be welcome here. I mean, unless you think they’d be a danger?”

She frowned, and then nodded sharply. “Some might. I will only invite those I trust.” She met my eyes again, serious as always. “Thank you, Inquisitor. This… means a great deal to me.”

I shrugged uncomfortably. Did she seriously think I might refuse? “Of course.”

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be pleased! I've lined up the next two chapters in time for my birthday! -E-


	33. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always clear who is on Ember's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got one more chapter lined up for my birthday later this week and then I'll take a small break to set up the next section of story.

I was called into the War Room today, to find Leliana, Cassandra, Cullen, _Varric_ and _the Iron Bull_. No Josephine, no Morrigan.

Cullen was staring at me as I entered. Cassandra and Varric looked worried. The Iron Bull and Leliana were both holding their spymaster poker faces.

I stopped, my hand still on the door, looking around at the strange group. “What’s up?”

“Close the door, Inquisitor,” Cullen ordered. His eyes were bloodshot. I frowned. He didn’t usually take that tone with me. I stepped the rest of the way into the room, and let the door close behind me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, fighting a sense of dread that I was being called onto the carpet somehow. These people were my peers, dammit. I should be able to look them in the eyes when there’s a problem. Why did I suddenly feel the intense need to find someplace to hide?

“ _Curly_ ,” Varric admonished quietly. The Commander was frowning, still staring at me, studying me. I had a sinking feeling that I knew what was up.

Then Leliana spoke, her tone discordantly cheerful. “Relax, Inquisitor, we merely wished to discuss some troubling rumors with you. Rumors that we need to gain control over as soon as possible.”

I tilted my ear towards her, too nervous to take my eyes off of Cullen. “Shouldn’t Josie be here, then?”

“We will call her in when we are ready.”

“Right,” I sighed. “This is about that day in the Approach, isn’t it? It’s been weeks since we got back. Why now?”

“We do not know how the rumors began,” Cassandra explained, “but people are whispering that you are secretly an abomination.”

“We’ve told them they’re full of shit, of course,” Varric added, “but nobody can resist a good story. I haven’t figured out yet how to redirect this one into something more flattering that doesn’t just add fuel to the fire.”

“ _Are_ you possessed, Inquisitor?” Cullen interrupted, bluntly.

“Not at the moment.” I replied, distracted by Varric’s conundrum. Then I winced. _That was definitely not the right way to answer that._

“Not at the _moment_?!” Cullen exclaimed, agitated.

At the same time, Cassandra demanded, “What does _that_ mean?”

I sighed deeply, putting my face in my hand, suddenly wishing we had chairs in the War Room.

“Look, this is a long story. It’s complicated, and I _can_ explain, but can we move this conversation up to my suite?”

“Why, what’s in your suite?” Cullen pushed. He sounded like he was _accusing_ me. Was he having flashbacks again?

“Curly!” Varric barked, “Lay off the Templar act. She’s done nothing wrong.”

“That remains to be seen,” the former Knight-Commander retorted. _What the hell?_

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cullen,” I replied, sarcastically. “What my suite contains is _chairs_. I want to sit down for this, please. This isn’t going to be a _fast_ conversation.”

“I see no reason we can not accommodate such a simple request, Commander,” Leliana said. “Her rooms are at least as private as the War Room.” I sighed in relief, and gestured for the door.

We all but marched out of the War Room, through the Great Hall and up the stairs to my suite. Cullen walked behind me, and Cassandra right in front of me. I felt like I was being led back to the dungeon. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

I settled down onto one of the footrests in front of the hearth, gesturing for the others to take seats on the sofa. The Iron Bull opted to perch on my desk, his arms crossed. Cullen wouldn’t sit. He was pacing, agitated. The Iron Bull was watching him carefully, his own expression carefully blank.

I took a deep breath.

“Okay, so first let me explain the stupid comment in the War Room.” Cullen turned to stare at me. Cassandra’s eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed in focus. I suspected Leliana’s apparent mild expression was as much to draw me out as it was actual sympathy, but Varric’s concern seemed sincere.

“You have to understand that before I came here, I had fifteen years of training and experience as a spirit medium.”

“ _Fifteen years_?” Cullen exclaimed, “How old were you when your magic was discovered? You can’t be much more than twenty now!”

“I’m forty, actually. And magic doesn’t work the same way where I’m from, remember? Because of my training, I have been possessed by _benevolent_ entities more times than I can count. And I have only rarely had any difficulty coming out of it. I have never, _ever_ been possessed by a demon, and I have not been possessed at all since coming _here_.”

“How can you be so sure?” Cullen sounded more distressed than angry now.

“I know myself pretty damned well, Cullen.” I replied gently, realizing how badly I must have scared him to get this reaction. “It’s a prerequisite to being a competent spirit medium. If you don’t know where you end and somebody else begins, you can’t make a clean channel for a spirit to speak through you. I know when I’m possessed or not possessed. I know when I’m dreaming or not dreaming.” I shook my head, muttering bitterly, “If there’s only one damned thing I’m good at in all the worlds, it’s that.”

“You are good at lots of things, Pipes,” Varric reassured me.

Cullen knelt down across from me, looking me in the face, his expression earnest. “How can we be sure it works the same way here for you, Ember? If you were to be overtaken by a demon…” He paused, shaking his head. “We would need to know as soon as possible, while you could still be saved.”

I sighed, and shook my head. “I don’t know how to prove it upon myself to your satisfaction, Cullen. Maybe Cassandra can look, but I can’t administer the spirit-compelling ritual on myself, and my training would interfere with it anyway. All I can tell you is that Ashes still purrs when I reach for her. She wouldn’t be so pleased if I had some demon sharing space with me.”

Cullen’s face crumpled in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Ashes is the cat, right boss?” the Iron Bull interrupted.

“Yeah,” I nodded, frowning with worry. How was I supposed to make sense of my spirit work to a former Templar?

“Ember has an entourage of friendly spirits” Varric explained. “We met them in the fade at Adamant. They doubled the party.”

“So you’ve said, but that is worrying in its own right,” Cassandra said, opening her eyes to stare at me pointedly. “All spirits can be corrupted, and even one benevolent spirit companion is rare for a mage. To be surrounded is unprecedented.”

I crossed my arms, exasperated. “Sure, but mine came with me from home, where it’s a lot more common.”

Cassandra nodded, still obviously worried. “We have made many allowances in your case, but even the most trusted of mages is vulnerable here. You do not look possessed to my sight, but I have not mastered the new technique. We should have others check.”

I nodded, and then sighed. “I still need to tell you about the Approach.”

“Yes, please,” Leliana prompted.

“So, yeah, you know how we had to kill that Abyssal High Dragon, right?” I said, turning back to Cullen. He nodded. “And you know how after that, we got attacked by a group of raiders, and Sera was injured, and I was exhausted, and Bull determined that we needed to return to Skyhold immediately?”

“Yes, I remember. Bull was very worried about you and Sera.”

“Right. Well, the reason he was worried about Sera is that she’d taken a head injury which bled like anything before it was healed. But the reason he was worried about _me_ is that I may have partially shapeshifted into a lion in order to defend Sera from the raiders who had us cornered. It’s hard to say for sure what exactly happened, since the only other people present were Sera, who was knocked senseless, and the raiders, who I killed. But…” I looked to the Iron Bull, trying to decide how to explain further.

Bull took up where I left off. “When I found her, her hair had come entirely out of its knot, she was kind of purring, or growling, leaning over Sera as she healed her. And she was absolutely covered in blood, especially her hands and mouth. The raiders looked like they’d had their throats ripped out and their bodies slashed by a large animal. Obviously I got her out of there, got her cleaned up, and got us all back to Skyhold as quickly as possible.”

“Why didn’t you report this sooner?” Cullen demanded.

“I _did_. To Red,” Bull replied. “I gave you the general incident reports, as usual, but the really sensitive stuff goes to the Spymaster in code, or in person.”

“We weren’t entirely sure what happened at the time, Cullen,” I explained. “There was only circumstantial evidence, no proof, and definitely nothing that anyone could link back to us. We didn’t want anything problematic in writing. I knew what I believed, and Bull knew what he saw. I’ve been working with Solas on shapeshifting. I should be able to control it.” I shrugged helplessly.

Leliana nodded, eyes bright. “Morrigan has several animal forms that I know of. She would be an excellent resource, if she is willing to teach.”

I nodded, “I’ve talked to her, too.”

Varric spoke up, frustrated. “What I can’t figure out is how exactly the rumor got started. I haven’t talked to anyone about what you told me, and I know Tiny and Nightingale can keep a secret.”

I shook my head. “It’s got to be Sera. She’s been avoiding me. I thought she was unconscious at the time, but what if she was just incapacitated? You know how she feels about magic.”

“Are you absolutely _sure_ it was shapeshifting?” Cullen pressed.

“Unless I used my regular teeth and hands in a fit of bloodlust? Yes, it was shapeshifting. Oh!”  I looked around, my eyebrows raised hopefully. “We can have Cole check me! Would that help?”

Cassandra nodded, “And Solas.”

I winced, looking down at my left hand. “Right. Crap. Cole has said it’s hard to see me through this thing.”

Cullen looked back and forth between me and Cassandra. I couldn’t tell if he was worried, confused, or disoriented somehow.

I turned back to Varric and Leliana. “Sera doesn’t know about… well any of this, really. I avoid telling her any of the weird shit even if I trust her with it, because it makes her so uncomfortable. She’d rather believe I’m just a really sheltered Marcher or something.”

“We need her,” Leliana said, sharply. Varric nodded.

Cassandra stood up immediately. “I’ll go.”

“We’ve got to figure out how we can spin this,” Varric mused. “I’ve already been telling the story of the Angelic Herald, but that doesn’t entirely mesh with a bloodthirsty beast. Maybe I can find the right way to make it sound totally unbelievable, so people will write it off as another tall tale.”

We all fell silent, contemplating our options, while we waited for Cassandra to return with Sera.

“What’s on, Quizzie-pants?” We heard Sera’s voice call up from the base of the stairs a bit later. “Cassie says you need me solving a mystery!”

“How many times must I ask you to please not call me ‘Cassie’, Sera?” Cassandra’s exasperated voice reached us.

“Sera, I need to ask you something really important. A few things, actually,” I told the young elf as she rounded the banister. She frowned, looking around the room.

“This is about you being all sharps and snarls, innit?” she replied. “I don’t wanna talk about that.”

“I know. But we need to know three things. One, what exactly did you see, two, what did you tell other people about it, and three, who did you tell?”

She scowled. “I saw... I don’t know, I hit my head, gone wobbly, and then _you_ were there, but your face was wrong and your hair was _fwoosh_ , all fangs and claws and _raaawr_! And then snap, I blink, you’re you again, hair still hair, blood everywhere, purring like a cat and fixing my face! Figured I imagined it. Made a great no-shit story, drunk at the Rest. Told ‘em I hit my head so hard, the sky turned colors and Quizzie was a giant cat.”

“ _Who_ did you tell?” the Iron Bull prompted.

“I don’t know, whoever, right? It was the Herald’s Rest. I don’t have to keep track of drunk arses at our own tavern, do I?”

Varric began swearing under his breath.

“Why’s it matter so much? It was just a bad dream, right?” Sera asked, upset.

“Sure, Buttercup, but now we’ve got rumors going around that our friend here is possessed by a demon with fangs and claws,” Varric explained.

“Arsebiscuits!” she hissed.

“My sentiments exactly,” he replied flatly.

“Still, someone twisted this rumor for a reason,” Leliana concluded. “We need to find them. Whoever it is does not have the Inquisition’s best interests at heart.”

I put my head in my hands, shuddering, as Sera continued swearing under her breath.

“It will be okay, Pipes. Now I know Sera’s story, I can spin it into something that will make people laugh, and doubt the rumor. The Inquisitor transforms into a giant, multi-colored housecat when her beloved companions are threatened! It’s a kid’s story. No one will seriously believe there was ever a real concern you were possessed by the time I’m done with it.”

“That will help Josephine. Go to her, Varric. We need to get ahead of this as soon as possible,” Leliana instructed. Varric nodded and immediately got up to leave.

Leliana and Cassandra looked at each other silently. Cassandra pulled Cullen up from where he’d been kneeling, staring at me, and the three of them departed, leaving me alone with Sera and the Iron Bull.

Sera looked up at me, her eyes huge. “Sorry!” she blurted, “I didn’t… it was just a stupid story, right?”

“It’s okay, Sera. I’m not mad at you.”

“It’s _not_ okay,” the Iron Bull disagreed. “Not really. You gotta be more careful, Sera.”

“Well, okay, yes, this is a clusterfuck. But she obviously didn’t do it on purpose,” I replied.

Sera screwed up her face, like she couldn’t decide if she was more guilty or angry. “Stupid pissbucket. When I find the friggin’ arseknocker who used my story to hurt my… DAMMIT!” she concluded, hitting her thighs with her fists.

I put my hands on her shoulders, gently, looking her in the face. “Sera, we’ll figure it out. You can probably help Varric fix the rumor with your Friends, even.”

“Yeah, right, yeah, but I should have just… I should have…” she looked up at me, her expression distressed.

“You should have talked to me?” I guessed.

She nodded.

“That would have been nice,” I agreed. “I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

She looked like she might cry, and then screwed up her nose, scowling defiantly.

I smiled gently. “I’m sorry for scaring you. You know that whatever happened, I was trying to protect you, right? I would never want to hurt you, Sera, you’re my friend.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I sorted it. Shoulda known. Good mage is still a mage. Bull helped, after the healers fixed my head.”

“Bull’s good that way. Bull’s good for a few things, I hear,” I smirked, looking at Sera expectantly.

“Right?” she grinned. “Good at making cook walk funny!”

I grinned back, “That too. Why don’t you go catch up with Varric and Josie. They’re going to need your help.”

“Right! Later, Quizzie-pants!” Sera chirped, her precious normality restored. She hopped up and ran down the stairs.

“How’s it going, Boss?” Bull asked me pointedly once she was out of earshot.

I sighed, exhausted. “I don’t need this, Bull. I suck at reputation and rumor crap, especially when I can’t just respond with the truth, and anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck off. I’m not used to it really mattering so much what I do, as long as I didn’t hurt anybody - well, anybody I shouldn’t have, anyway.”

“We’ll sort it out. You’ve got a network of spymasters and rumor mongers at your disposal.”

“You didn’t report back to the Qun about this, did you?” I asked him warily, too tired to panic at the thought just then.

“What, tell the Ariqun rumor has it the big girl in charge of the most powerful force in Southern Thedas might be harboring demons? You think they’d have offered us an alliance if I had?”

“Right. But if it’s going around, you have to tell them something, yeah?”

“I do, yeah. And now Varric has his story and you’ve clarified yours, I’ll just tell them you’re a shapeshifter, like those Witches of the Wilds they’ve heard about. It won’t make them happy, but it won’t start a war.”

“Fair enough.”

\-----

I needed to let off some steam, so I climbed to the top of the rotunda tower and spent a little while feeding little bits of my lunch to the ravens, letting my mind race around. I heard a door open and shut downstairs, and leaned against the railing to note that Solas had returned from the spooky library with a small stack of dusty books, which he set down on his desk before settling into the chair.

I got up, dusting off my trousers, and climbed carefully over the railing.

“Heads up!” I called down, and then took a deep breath and jumped off the third floor railing, letting myself fall for a floor before casting the telekinesis spell that would set me safely on the floor beside Solas’ desk.

“I do wish you wouldn’t do that, _da’len,_ ” he grumbled. I’ve noticed he’s more likely to call me ‘ _da’len_ ’ if he thinks I’m being foolish.

“How else am I supposed to practice feather-falling?” I smirked.

“Perhaps you could practice somewhere less… unsettling?” he scowled.

I put one finger to my lip, as if contemplating his plea. “Well, I’ll need to find a new location once I’ve mastered this height, certainly. But then I’ll just have to ask you to stand at the bottom anyway.”

“Why me?” he entreated the ceiling as much as me.

I tilted my head, grinning cheekily. “Why, who else do you trust to catch me at the bottom if I fail?”

“I heard that!” Dorian called down from the library.

Solas’ eyes grew wide for a moment, before he brought a hand to the crease between his eyebrows. “A fair point, Inquisitor. Carry on.”

\-----

The road to the coast was as damp as always. Still, I found myself looking forward to the smell of the sea, even if our purpose for going made us all wary. The Iron Bull rode up front with the rest of my party - Solas, Dorian, and Leliana insisted that Charter join us in Crestwood along the way - while Krem and the Chargers trailed behind us, bantering cheerfully. Dorian spent his time trying to get a reaction out of Charter and eyeing Bull warily. Solas tended to me quietly, and asked Bull pointed questions about Qunari culture. He was not entirely pleased with my decision to accept the Qun’s offer of alliance.

"What have you got against the Qun, Solas?" the Iron Bull grumbled.

Solas' face was impassive as ever, but his tone was stern. "You spy upon your own people."

"Is that so different from Orlais or Ferelden?" Bull balked. "They have all kinds of people policing them."

I shrugged, looking from Bull to Solas, and then found myself resisting the urge to grin. Solas was beginning to slip, his passion for the subject seeping into his tone. "What they say and do, yes. Not what they think!"

Bull growled. "What you think _is_ what you say and do."

I blinked. "What? No." Solas’s mouth twitched at seeing me pulled into their debate.

Bull nodded calmly. "Thoughts are actions, Boss."

I turned to look at him, "No, Bull. _Thinking_ is an action. Thoughts, feelings, memories - they're objects to be considered."

"You can't take an action you haven't thought about first," He reasoned.

I shook my head emphatically. "Even if that's true - and I'm not sure it is - you _can_ choose _not_ to take an action you’ve thought about. You can choose not to say what you’re thinking. We do it all the time.” I laughed. “I get credit for choosing to keep my mouth shut in front of the Orlesians, dammit!”

Bull laughed.

“This is precisely my point,” Solas insisted. “Even the lowliest peasant may find freedom in the safety of her thoughts. You take even that.”

“You think the servants here are any happier?” Bull challenged. Solas looked appalled.

I shook my head. “False dilemma! Both are flawed. The South lacks equality, the Qun lacks freedom. Without equality, freedom only grants those with more power and money the ability to oppress others. Without freedom, equality strips us of identity.”

“Identity is illusion. We are what we do.” Bull replied so automatically I blinked again.

“No, we do what we are,” Solas replied firmly. “Without the freedom to choose, our actions lack meaning. The Qun would crush the brilliant few for the mediocre many!”

I shook my head, holding up a hand. “Wait, back up, what do you mean by ‘ _identity is illusion_ ’?”

Bull sighed, and leaned back on his mount to think for a moment. “There aren’t really names under the Qun. Not like you have. We’re not individual people, we’re parts of the whole. That brilliance Solas is so worried about? It exists to serve a purpose. If you’re meant to be a poet, then the _tamasrans_ will make sure you study with the scholars.”

“Okay, but do you have a sense of self?” I pushed. “Do you know who you are, Bull?”

“I know _what_ I am. That’s all that matters.” He was staring straight ahead, his face an impassive mask.

I frowned as we all fell silent. A strong sense of self is how I defend myself against demons. That _‘indomitable focus’_ Solas noted months ago? That’s a feature of self-knowledge. Without a strong sense of self, Bull was right to fear possession. I’d read a bit about how the Qun treats mages. It was the main thing that made me hesitate to accept their offer. They make the same mistake the Templars fell into, thinking the best way to control magic is to control the mage, rather than teaching the mage self-control.

Why they’re willing to ally with an organization run by an unbound outsider mage, I’m not sure. I doubt they’re willing to learn anything about magic from us. Hell, I’m not sure we’ll be able to convince the South there’s a better way. I just assumed the Qun was entirely out of reach. But if this alliance works out, maybe there’s more we can do?

\-----

I frowned as the Iron Bull and I led our teams to the hilltop where we were scheduled to meet with the Qunari contact.

“I still don’t understand why we need to clear the beach, Bull. The Blades of Hessarian have been there the whole time, and it didn’t stop any of the previous runs. We never announced that the Blades serve me now, so why would their presence scare the Venatori off?”

“We can’t trust that they don’t know, and this is a sensitive mission, Boss. My contacts made it very clear that we’re to bring only the two small, easily-hidden teams to cover the Dreadnought.”

“And you’re sure this alliance is a good use of our resources? You said yourself, the Qun would do this anyway, and they have very little to offer us in practical terms.”

“It’s a test, okay?” he groaned. “They’re trying to figure out if they need to invade the whole damned South to stop the madness from spreading. They want to see how well you can cooperate with them.”

Behind us, I heard Solas snort with derision, and Dorian laugh low.

I scowled. “Uh-huh. I’m a lot more interested in whether _they’re_ actually willing to cooperate with _us_. If they think our cooperation means me acting like they’re in charge, they’ve got another thing coming.”

“I know, Boss,” the Iron Bull sighed. “Just… follow my lead, okay? It’ll be fine.”

\-----

“There they are,” Gatt hissed, crouching behind a bush just below the edge of the hill. A handful of Venatori were milling about at the top of the hill, and the next peak over, waiting for the Tevinter tallship rowing straight towards the cove. A Qunari Dreadnought emerged from hiding behind the large island.

“Ready when you are, Gatt,” Bull rumbled. The rest of us nodded, and Gatt gave the signal.

With two elven archers and three mages on our hill, the Iron Bull had very little to do himself but hold onto the horn for signaling Krem on the other hill. Both hills were cleared of the Venatori guards in short order, giving the Dreadnought plenty of leeway to come destroy the entire shipment of red lyrium. Or, well, to shatter it into little bits and kill everyone there, anyway. Dorian, Solas, and I would follow up later with underwater fire mines to incinerate the remains after the Chargers had a chance to salvage anything useful.

Qunari Dreadnoughts are indeed impressive ships. Nothing compared to an aircraft carrier, of course, but for Thedas? Wow, huge. And they have cannons, which are apparently not something Southern tallships have yet. I guess that makes sense, as guns haven’t been invented either.

The cannons obviously use blackpowder. The unmistakable smell of sulphur and saltpeter reminded me of many an Independence Day weekend back home. Now I’m going to be craving hot dogs and ice cream, and _1776_ is going to be stuck in my head for days, I just know it.

 _“He’s obnoxious and disliked, did you know that?”_ I sang under my breath.

“What was that, Inquisitor?” Solas murmured.

“Nothing, sorry,” I whispered back.

“ _Crap_ ” Bull spat out. A third group of Venatori mages had gathered, seemingly out of nowhere, heading straight for the Chargers.

“There’s still plenty of time for the Chargers to get out,” I pointed out.

“Your men need to hold that position!” Gatt asserted.

“They do that, they’re dead,” Bull frowned.

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it, and the Dreadnought is dead. You’d be throwing away the alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari. You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth.”

“Well, it’s hardly ideal, but the Chargers can retreat temporarily while we can cross over to reinforce them, take out the remaining Venatori, and then rescue any Qunari from the waters if the Dreadnought is damaged enough to sink,” I reasoned.

“Qunari Dreadnoughts don’t _sink_ , Boss.”

I turned to look directly at the Iron Bull, confused and alarmed by his statement. His expression was grim. He stood stock still, his muscles stiff, his jaw clenched, flexing so tight the muscles at his temples were visibly pulsing with each grind of his teeth. He didn’t move, frozen between two loyalties, while the clock was ticking for Krem, and their Chargers.

This was the test. Not to see if _I_ would cooperate, but to see what Bull would do if he had to choose. They may not have known for sure that the third group of Venatori would attack, but they damned well knew two small teams wasn’t enough for the job. I should have sent a second mage with them to begin with, dammit.

I looked to Solas and nodded. He fade-stepped away while the others were focused on Gatt and Bull.

“I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you’d _never_ become Tal-Vashoth!” Gatt objected, his expression torn between dismay and anger.

“They’re _my men_ ,” Bull replied, darkly.

I shook my head, scowling. Unwilling to wait for Bull to sift through his priorities before deciding whether to let our friends die, I grabbed the horn from his hand, and sounded the retreat. Bull looked at me, his unpatched eye wide and glassy.

Gatt looked _furious_ . I glared at the elf, slapped the horn back into the Iron Bull’s hand, and pointed at Gatt. “The Chargers are with the _Inquisition_ . They’re not just Bull’s men, they’re _mine_ . The Qun doesn’t get to tell me to sacrifice my people needlessly, just because they insist on _Kamikaze_ tactics. You want to make your people commit suicide when the shore is in easy reach, and we have plenty of time to take out their attackers once we regroup, that’s your problem, _not mine_.”

I turned on Gatt and gestured for Bull, Dorian, and Charter to follow me to where the Chargers were retreating.

“All these years, Hissrad, and you throw it all away. For what? For this? For _them_?” Gatt called after us.

Bull stopped in his tracks, shoulders tensing, hand gripping the horn so tight I thought it might shatter. I put my hand on Bull’s arm.

He turned his head slightly, catching Gatt in his peripheral vision.

“The name is ‘ _The Iron Bull_ ’,” he growled, before stalking down the hill to regroup with his Chargers.

\-----

The Iron Bull invited me to the Herald’s Rest. He’d promised the Chargers a casket of Chasind sack mead for their work. I knew it was as much to celebrate their survival, as anything. I realized the moment I saw the expression on his face, though, that it was also to silently apologize to them, for ever hesitating to save them in the first place.

I put a hand on Bull’s hand, and tilted my head to try and catch his eye. “You okay, Bull?”

He sighed, and gave me a half-smile. “They’ve named me Tal-Vashoth, of course. Tal-va- _fucking_ -shoth. Like Gatt said, half of them suspected I already was. I won’t be getting any more Ben-Hassrath reports to share with Red, Boss. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Bull. She has her own resources she’s been using to confirm your reports all this time anyway, right?”

He chuckled, “Probably more than she lets on, yeah.”

“I’m the one who called the retreat. I can understand them denying us the alliance, and even recalling you to Par Vollen, but why name _you_ Tal-Vashoth for what _I_ did?”

“I pretty much declared myself Tal-Vashoth at the end there. But it’s not like I did anything to stop you.”

“I guess they have no reason to believe you _couldn’t_ stop me,” I shrugged.

“Couldn’t I?” he gave me a pointed look. “You think that horn woulda left my hand if I didn’t _let_ it? Your ice won’t stop me if I’m determined.”

I laughed. “Oh sure, you’d beat me in melee. But can you run faster than I can fade step?”

Bull busted up laughing loud enough to make the rest of the Chargers look our way.

“Share the joke, Chief?” Krem prompted.

“Oh, I was just pointing out that there’s only so much your Chief here can do to stop a mage from doing whatever she wants.” I grinned. “Am I right, Dalish?”

“ _It’s a_ **_bow_ ** _,”_ the Chargers chanted with Dalish, in unison, all grinning.

\-----

I found the Iron Bull outside, sparring with Krem. “Hey, Bull, got a minute?”

“Sure, Boss, what do you need?” he agreed immediately.

“I want you to see what Dagna and I have been working on.”

“Oh, this should be good,” he laughed, handing his shield off to Grimm.

Dagna bounced up the steps to the door of the undercroft, and gleefully handed me a vial of fine powder. I sniffed it, and nodded, handing it to Bull.

His eyes grew wide. “What’s this, Boss?”

I nodded towards the container, indicating that he should smell it. “It’s a common experiment from home. Two parts sulphur and three parts powdered charcoal, mixed fifteen to one with saltpeter. Dissolve in water mixed with distilled grain alcohol. Let dry and then carefully grind back into powder through a sieve.”

“You know how to make _Gaatlock_ ,” Bull deadpanned, his expression gone totally blank.

“ _Children_ know how to make blackpowder where I come from, Bull. I just didn’t realize that’s what _Gaatlock_ was until I smelled it burning from the Dreadnought’s cannons. The way everybody talks about it, I’d assumed it was something more complicated, like C-4 or something. I don’t know much about explosives in general, really.”

“But you know how to make this?”

“Well, the instructions are in a couple different songs I know,” I replied sheepishly.

“Of course they are,” he replied, still deadpan.

“It’s fascinating stuff!” Dagna added, ever cheerful. “More stable than lyrium dust, but it generates a lot more smoke, and it smells terrible. Still, if I sent it down to Orzammar, they could probably increase lyrium mining production by… well, by a lot! Ooh! I wonder what Bianca could do with it?”

Bull actually looked _alarmed_ . “Boss, you can’t let this get out. The secret of _Gaatlock_ is one of the only things keeping Tevinter in check by the Qun!”

I nodded somberly. “I thought you might say that. For now, the only person I’ve told is Dagna, and she’s sworn to secrecy. But Bull, I find it hard to believe this is truly a secret. My world has had it for thousands of years.”

“We’ve never really needed it,” Dagna shrugged. “We can do what this does and more with lyrium dust. It’s just this behaves a lot more predictably.”

“And the average farmer could make it over a campfire if they knew how! Not everything my world has is actually a good idea to bring here. Y’all don’t need hand guns, that’s for sure.” I sighed, and looked at the Iron Bull. “For now, this is between us. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions. Thank you, Bull.”

He nodded, frowning, and walked slowly out of the undercroft. I looked to Dagna, and nodded.

“On it, Inquisitor,” she agreed immediately. Our little experiment had been minimal, and now she would destroy the results.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about Gaatlock. There's plenty of debate around whether blackpowder as we know it is sufficient to explain Gaatlock. I'm almost positive the writers at least *initially* intended for Gaatlock to be blackpowder, but we all know things change as they develop the plot and world. What it will be by the time it's revealed - if it's ever revealed - in canon remains an open question.
> 
> They clearly have some much more volatile primers made with poisons, according to Trespasser codices, and it seems likely that what Anders used to blow up the chantry is something like blackpowder with the charcoal replaced with the much less stable lyrium, activated via magic, which would be similar to the stuff dwarves have been using all along. But we've seen nothing to indicate that regular blackpowder is in use outside the Qun.
> 
> European history went for hundreds of years without blackpowder, and that's the level of non-magic tech reflected in DA outside the Qun.
> 
> So, for the purposes of *this* story, yes, basic Gaatlock is classic blackpowder.


	34. Red Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Lyrium sucks.
> 
> And apparently makes everybody wistful for their favorite foods, or something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me!  
> A chapter for you!  
> The next bit is special.  
> Hope you like it too!

I stared across the War Table at my advisers, scowling. “What do you mean, you’ve sent Solas to Val Royeaux. Since when are my team sent on assignments without discussing it with me first?”

“Commander Cullen had a mission of particular importance that he felt required Solas’ expertise. There was little time to waste, so he was notified directly. Dorian can accompany your team. You’ve worked with him countless times before.” Leliana replied calmly.

I waved a hand, shaking my head. “Yes, yes, Dorian is fine. That’s not the point. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you _now,_ Inquisitor,” she admonished. “Is that not sufficient? You have not objected to previous arrangements when Solas or Varric were needed elsewhere. Has something changed that we should know about?” she pressed.

I frowned. “I wanted him with me in Emprise du Lion. There’s going to be a lot of Red Lyrium. Solas is better at healing than Dorian.”

“You are an excellent healer yourself,” Josephine offered.

I shook my head. “Right. _‘Physician, heal thyself.’_ Meh. Fine! We’ll figure it out. You can’t have Varric, though. He’ll want to see this through.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana assured me.

\-----

I'm not really sure how it's possible for it to be colder down the mountain than it is right outside Skyhold, but apparently where normal blue lyrium makes the inside of Skyhold comfortably warm, too much _red_ lyrium has caused the temperature in Emprise du Lion to drop well below freezing. At least, I assume that's the cause, because there's red lyrium fuckin' everywhere here, and even the waterfalls are frozen solid. Mind you, we knew to expect both those things going in. The Iron Bull even wore a shirt! Cole, Varric, and Dorian joined us.

We were hoping Varric could provide some insight around how to safely dismantle the red lyrium mines that our reports told us Samson's rogue Templars had set up in the area. So far our only idea is “kill it with fire!”.

I suggested “ _Nuke ‘em from orbit, only way to be sure,_ ” but of course, nobody understood me except Cole.

He dutifully replied _“They mostly come at night, mostly,”_ which had me grinning and everybody else staring at us warily.

That damned ringing in my ears came back with a vengeance as we approached, and it had me out of sorts as we came into the little town of Sahrnia. I'm afraid I was rude to their Mistress Poulin as she tried to explain what had been going on. Almost half the town had already been captured by the Red Templars to work in the mines, with no word back from any of them as to their well-being. Our primary mission was to find Samson if we could, and dismantle the mines, but I wanted to prioritize getting to those prisoners.

The problem was, the closer I get to red lyrium, the more I want to throw up, and the mines outside Sahrnia held the highest concentration of red lyrium I'd ever encountered, possibly even counting that craptastic future Dorian and I visited.

"Fantastic. Does this remind you of anything, Inquisitor?" he quipped.

"More than I'd like, Dorian," I agreed.

"Well, the blue-grey sky is a definite improvement, I'd say. And gravity is still obliging us," he added mock-cheerfully.

"Wait for it," Varric retorted gravely. "This much of the raw stuff in one place, I'm amazed there's no furniture flying at our heads."

He had a point, there. I pondered the possible reasons for the difference. "You did say it was a carved idol that caused the truly weird shit. Maybe it had as much to do with whatever the idol represented as it did the material?"

"That's comforting," he replied dryly.

"Sorry."

We set up camp at the base of the trail leading up to the quarry. Or rather, we cleared and took over a camp set up by the Red Templars.

\-----

I helped Bull cook dinner this time. Solas has been teaching me how to identify the herbs he uses for cooking, and which imposters are toxic. I’m not willing to risk mushrooms yet, but Varric took out a small ram we came across on the first day out, giving half of it to a former chevalier who helped us field dress it, when he promised to feed the villagers. It’s so damned cold the extra meat keeps just fine. It’s actually harder to find fuel for the cooking fire. We’re set for protein for a while. Even Dorian is relatively pleased, and he’s impossible.

We sat around the fire, huddling as close as we could without risking our boots, trading gallows humor and really terrible innuendos, and reminiscing about our respective distant homes.

Varric laughed as he complained cheerfully about the great outdoors. “Kirkwall is terrible, but at least everything is paved. Even the poorest houses don’t have dirt floors. The hightowners pay extra for real dirt to put in their gardens. This is my third pair of boots since we left for Haven. I had them reinforced, I’m so tired of twisting my damned ankles!”

“I do miss a nice, level tiled plaza now and then,” Dorian agreed. “But it’s the food that really makes me miss Minrathous.”

“You said tonight’s meat was good!” I pouted.

“It was lovely, Ember. For Southern food, anyway. You and Bull at least aren’t afraid of seasoning. I swear, most Fereldan cooks treat garlic like it might bite back, and they’ve never seen a pepper in their lives. Even Orlais could stand to spice things up a bit. At least they understand the difference between butter and lard.”

“You’ve never had peppers until you’ve tried Seheron food. There’s this stew seasoned with a mixture they we called _vatissala._ That shit’d set your mouth on fire. I’d love to get my hands on a jar, but I’ve never seen it off the island.”

“What’s in it?” I asked. “Maybe you could make your own?”

“Other than peppers?” Bull shrugged, “No idea. Well, I could guess, but I know at least two of the ingredients don’t grow anywhere else, so it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you miss most from your home, Pipes?” Varric spoke up again.

“You mean, like, food?” I grinned wistfully. “Mostly I miss the variety. I lived in a huge city. We had people from all over the world, and they all brought their food with them. I could have a different regional cuisine every day for a fortnight if I wanted to. Maybe even a month.”

Cole smiled, turning his pale eyes to my face. “ _Green flowers in melted butter. Batter in boiling oil, surrounded with sweet snow. The day dies like a rose when the sun sets in the sky._ ”

I groaned, laughing. “Oooohhhh, artichokes and churros from the ren faire! Dammit, Cole, now I’m craving things I can’t have!”

Varric raised an eyebrow, and pulled out his notebook. “Green flowers?”

I grinned. “Artichokes are a kind of giant thistle. The top of the stem is edible, so you cook the whole flower and then peel off the petals and leaves, and eat the bit at the base.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” the Iron Bull grunted, amused.

“That just means it’s a delicacy, you oaf,” Dorian objected.

I sighed, shaking my head, wistfully, only to groan, squeezing my eyes shut as the twisting movement sent spikes of pain through my skull. “Okay, that was a mistake.”

A rustle of movement followed by a gentle hand on the back of my head sent a rush of warm healing energy across my scalp, relieving tension. I sighed in relief. “Thank you So… er, Dorian. Thank you Dorian.”

He chuckled. “Missing your elven hobo lover?”

I objected. “He’s not my-”

“Oh, please,” the mage laughed. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other down in the rotunda lately. You can’t tell me you’re just being friendly.”

“Well, no, but-”

“At least we haven’t caught him shouting ‘Elven Glory!’” Bull laughed.

“I’m not-”

“If you ever do, warn me,” Varric laughed. “I owe Sera twenty sovs if she catches him.”

“We’re not fucking!” I blurted out, loud enough to be heard over their laughter.

They all fell silent, startled by my outburst. I’m sure my face was redder than the lyrium-laced snow we’d been tromping through all day.

Dorian wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “We’re just teasing you, darling. You two have been dancing around each other since we met.”

I huffed. “I’m not saying I don’t like him. Of course I do. But-” 

“You can’t seriously still believe he’s not interested,” he interrupted, aghast.

Cole spoke quietly into the silence. “ _Soft lips, startled smiles. ‘Perhaps, for a time.’_ She knows, Dorian. Their hearts are faster than their minds, their hands are slower still.”

I sighed with relief, almost going limp in Dorian’s arms, suddenly exhausted. “Yes, exactly,” I mumbled. “Thank you, Cole.”

“Did that make sense to you, Varric?” the Iron Bull asked, audibly amused.

“I think he’s saying they’re taking it slow,” Varric replied.

“How terribly dull,” Dorian complained, shifting to let me lean against his shoulder as I started to drift off.

I woke up later wrapped in furs in a tent next to Varric. A minor fire rune was tucked against my neck, keeping my headache at bay. I realized as my eyes fell shut again that they hadn’t assigned me a watch shift.

\-----

I studied the fade around me with a critical eye. Multicolored trees, and giant mushrooms: check. Long table surrounded by surprisingly comfortable, mismatched chairs: check. Table set for a very motley high tea: check.

"Shall I wear more colorful stripes?" Ashes deadpanned from my shoulder, the tip of her tail flicking with irritable amusement against my cheek.

I rolled my eyes. "I think you've got it covered with your disappearing act."

My other spirit companions looked on my work with varying levels of approval, amusement, and confusion. The last mostly being Anselm, who was not already thoroughly familiar with my Alice fixation. He looked from me to the table and back several times, tilting his head to one side and then the other, as if the change in perspective would make sense of my deliberate madness.

"He doesn't even _like_ tea," I muttered to myself, shaking my head.

"He's never had spiced chai or sweet tea before," Adele observed. "You needn't include actual tea flavor, for that matter."

"True," I sighed, brushing my hands down the front of my patchwork velvet dress nervously, and then reaching up to pat my hair. "Oh! I almost forgot!" A moment's concentration gave me a suitably decorated top hat.

Adele nodded with approval before disappearing, leaving me with a confused wolf, a half-visible cat, and Rabbit, who had chosen to humor me with a waistcoat and watch of his own. "We may as well sit. A wizard is never early."

" _Nor is he late_ ," I replied automatically, only to wave a hand at him in frustration. "Wrong story!"

"He comes," Ashes purred in my ear, before disappearing the rest of the way herself. Anselm barked excitedly and rushed behind me to greet Solas, who reached down to allow his hand to be sniffed in greeting as usual. 

I got up from my chair as he drew near and nodded briefly to acknowledge Rabbit. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide my nerves, and sang:

_"Now fill up the glasses as quick as you can,_   
_and sprinkle the table with buttons and bran._   
_Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea,_   
_and welcome dear Solas with thirty-times-three!_

_Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,_   
_or anything else that is pleasant to drink._   
_Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine,_   
_and welcome dear Solas with ninety-times-nine!"_

Solas watched me with perplexed amusement, pursing his lips in an obvious attempt to avoid laughing at me as I ended the ridiculous little song with my arms out and a big, cheesy, _hopeful_ grin on my face. The resulting silence stretched out until I broke down into laughter, shaking until my hat came tumbling off my head.

To my relief, his own chuckles joined mine, finally, as he walked towards me. He reached down and picked the hat up, examining it for a moment before returning it gently to my head.

"Welcome to the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, Solas," I said, once I caught my breath.

He actually _smiled_ . I’m pretty sure my heart _literally_ skipped a beat. Does that even count in the fade?

"Visions from your home, I presume?"

"Not exactly. It's based on a scene from one of my favorite stories."

He looked around the table. "Are you expecting very many others?"

"No, the story has only a few characters moving around a table much larger than they seem to need. Sit wherever you like, it's just us. Rabbit is just here to set the scene for us."

"Ah, this is where he gets his fashion sense, then?"

"Part of it, yeah. I can’t quite picture you as a _mad_ hatter, but here," I gestured to conjure him a plain black silk top hat, which he dutifully donned. It didn’t go at all with his comfortable beige knit tunic and leather leggings. I bit my lips to avoid laughing aloud.

He looked down at himself, smirking, and shifted his own clothing to a flowing tunic with a high straight collar and long, loose trousers, both in black silk embroidered with silver. Of course his favorite jawbone necklace still rested on his chest, but now it had silver accents on the cord. Still not anything I would have paired with a top hat, but it looked amazing on him anyway. I raised my eyebrows appreciatively.

We sat in a pair of chairs at one end of the table. Rabbit handed us both plates filled with tea cakes and sweets, filling my cup with spiced tea, honey, and milk, before disappearing to let me sort out what Solas might like to drink.

“Here, try this one. It’s one of my favorites.” I offered him a tall clear glass filled with bright orange, creamy liquid over a pile of dark spheres.

“Are those… _what_ are those?” He examined the tapioca pearls through the glass.

“I don’t know if you have anything like them here. They’re made from a plant starch called tapioca.”

“They resemble fish eggs,” he frowned.

“I know, but they’re not salty at all, I promise. They’re chewy all the way through, and slightly sweet. The drink is _very_ sweet, I think you’ll like it.”

He took a hesitant sip, and his eyes lit up with delight. “This is delicious, what is it?”

“Thai Iced Tea. Mostly spices, syrup, coconut milk. Technically, there’s tea in it somewhere, but if it’s made right, it shouldn’t be bitter.”

“I would not have guessed there was any tea in this. Ordinarily, I detest the stuff.”

I laughed. “That’s because you over-steep your tea!”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, taking another sip of the sweet concoction. “This is wonderful, _vhenan_ , thank you,” he smiled, setting the glass down.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what does _‘vhenan’_ mean?”

He breathed slowly, his expression wistful. “It means ‘heart’.”

“Oh! Well that’s more romantic than _‘da’len_ ’ then!” I grinned.

“Indeed. It is an endearment reserved for those who are... “ he took a deep breath before finishing, “especially dear.”

I grinned so hard my cheeks ached. Then I covered my mouth and closed my eyes for a moment to avoid bursting into tears at the wave of emotion that crashed through me. My breath caught, and I exhaled carefully, opening my eyes again to look at him.

Solas blinked, his expression unreadable at first, and then ducked his head slightly and smiled, as if he was surprised, himself. After a moment, he shrugged, and stated, simply, “It seemed appropriate.”

I got up from my chair to lean over him, taking off both our hats to set them on the table, and then placing my hands on either side of his face. “It is indeed,” I agreed, my lips smiling against his.

He wrapped his arms around me, turning me to settle down onto his lap. “How fares Sarhnia? The abundance of red lyrium you described is worrying.”

I sighed wrapping my arms around his. “It’s giving me a hell of a headache. Dorian is helpful, but I really wish you were with us.”

“You are an accomplished healer in your own right, _vhenan_ ,” he admonished gently.

“I know,” I groaned. “I’m doing my best, but it’s hard to focus with all that glowing crap everywhere. The camp we settled in tonight wasn’t as bad as the last one, but I know it will just be worse as we approach the mines.”

He huffed, nodding against my shoulder, and pulled me in closer. “This errand for the Commander shouldn’t take much longer. Perhaps I can join you there soon. I can see why he felt my expertise might be useful, but I do not believe I was truly needed for this errand. Master Guerrin would have served just as well.”

I chuckled. “Isn’t it a good sign that Cullen and Josephine trust you enough to send you among all those snobbish human scholars in the university by yourself?”

“Perhaps,” he mused, his breath warm against my ear. He didn’t sound convinced. He leaned in to nuzzle my hair.

I tilted my head to one side, and turned slightly, to look at him from the corner of my eye, smirking. “Cole is with us. I’d rather he didn’t pick up on anything too exciting.”

Solas shook gently with silent laughter. “I will endeavor to contain myself, _vhenan_.”

\-----

Another camp cleared and claimed. It's getting hard to tell the blood on the ground from the red lyrium. I'm grateful for the cold. I don't have to focus much to pull ice to quell my nausea. But between the nausea and the constant ringing in my ears, I'm definitely not at my best.

But we can't stop now. We have to keep up momentum. If we give the Red Templars time to regroup and pull in reinforcements, there's no way we'll be able to rescue whatever is left of the townsfolk they've captured, much less clear out their red lyrium quarry or take back Suledin keep. I should have brought more people. Scout Harding is already carrying notes back to Skyhold for us, requesting backup. Unfortunately, she’d already used the messenger ravens she had to summon us in the first place. Hopefully reinforcements will catch up soon.

There's no way we'll be able to take the keep with a party this small, especially with me all but incapacitated. I'm useless in a fight right now. They're having me hold back behind Varric while Bull and Cole handle the combat with Dorian for primary support. They can't leave me behind entirely, with rifts in random places, but that's about all I'm good for.

Nobody is giving me shit about it, though. Dorian periodically puts his hand on the back of my neck and casts something that helps with the nausea a little bit. I wish I had the focus to learn it from him.

I'm going to bed. Maybe some time in the fade, away from all this shit, will help me collect myself.

\-----

_Hawke,_

_Whatever side trips you were taking, skip them. We need you back here now. I'll explain when you get here._

_Varric_

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, cliffhanger. Sorry, not sorry! The next section of story will be a side story. When it's ready, I'll post another chapter here linking to it!
> 
> \------------------  
> Poem modified slightly from the Welcome Queen Alice poem in Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll.
> 
> "Vatissala" is a word I made up from the canon Qunlat bits "fire" and "powder". It's basically meant to be a very hot curry powder.


	35. Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, another perspective is required.

Please read [The Canticle of Trials](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556654/chapters/51391141) before continuing to the next chapter.


End file.
